Lost Jedi, Dark Hero
by Rakeesh
Summary: Betrayed by Malak, Revan was believed destroyed. Yet, the Force makes the impossible possible, and something new arises from the ashes. Carth Onasi, crashing alone on Taris, encounters a person who is a stranger even to herself. Compl, Taris to Dantooine
1. Chapter 1: Awakening

**Disclaimers and Such:**

_I despise Author's Notes, so I'll keep this short. First of all... thanks for reading. Secondly, thanks for reviewing! Be honest! I know there are problems with this story, and I'll be disappointed if others don't point them out as well, because it means I can't even critique my own writing properly. :)_

_This follows the story of Knights of the Old Republic, but only up to the arrival on Dantooine. I doubt I need to say "Spoilers", since if you're reading this you're probably already familiar with the game. I don't own the characters, nor the franchise, nor the basic story. Bioware has shown a remarkable tolerance for fanfiction, and that's one of the things that makes that company so awesome, and one of the reasons why I shove my wallet into their hands with desperate fervour. "Take it," I say. "Take it and love me again, please."_

_Anyway, onto the story. Some events will warp considerably from the game – otherwise, what's the point? I've been true to the original dialogue in some places, and other points thrown it out the window. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

Overall, Bastila would have preferred to have been in space.

Onderon was a nice place, to be sure. It had a wild, untamed feel to it that the young Jedi found appealing. The beastmasters and their animals were a wonder to behold. And, as Master Vossa said, during such tragic times, it was important to appreciate times of peace, and remember what was being fought for.

But Bastila found it hard to think of such things – on Onderon, especially. She couldn't ignore the fact that the giant moon above was where the Mandalorian War had effectively started. The war that had birthed Revan and Malak and sent them on their slide to the Dark Side. It was an ominous omen hanging over her head, figuratively and literally.

She strode through a medical and research complex in Iziz, a dry and sterile building that contrasted greatly with the streets of the city, with its bazaars and merchants and roaming tamed beasts. The people she saw either nodded politely or pointedly ignored her. Reactions to Jedi on the world were decidedly bipolar. Some held animosity for the Order, since they dallied so long in opposing the conquering Mandalorians. Others adored the Jedi, for leading the forces which had eventually liberated them. Sympathies for the Sith were dangerously high; Revan and Malak, the leaders of the liberating armies, were nearly deified. Most of the population was too unsophisticated to realize that the two heroic Jedi had become... something else.

Bastila sometimes wondered how the population would react if they knew just what she'd been carrying when she'd come back from her recent mission. She had no real desire to find out.

What she desired was to be back out in space, helping stem Revan's invasion fleet. The Republic High Command had been overjoyed to hear that Revan had been defeated, and the effects had shown immediately; the Sith forces had ceased their advance, and in some places even fallen back. After two nears of near-constant defeats to the Dark Lord, any respite was welcome.

Yet Bastila knew that the Sith's internal struggle would not last long, and Malak would become the new Dark Lord. Then the assault would begin again. And Malak was not a surgeon, like his strategically-brilliant master. No, he saw no reason to cut when he could smash. The war would start again, and it would undoubtedly be more brutal than before. And Bastila needed to be there to stop him.

A pair of doors split before her, and she entered one of the intensive-care facilities. The room was filled with kolto tanks, each one capable of using the miraculous substance to heal a sentient from very near the point of death. But there were limits to their abilities – not every wound could be treated.

Only one of the tanks was occupied. It was nearly a physical effort for the Jedi Sentinel to approach it.

She took comfort from the presence of Master Vossa Ti'lk, the Twi'lek Jedi who had been on Onderon when she and her team had arrived, bearing an unexpected burden. He stood in front of the kolto tank, his yellow lekku arranged around his shoulders, looking up at the woman who floated within.

_Revan_.

"You summoned me, Master Vossa?"

"Ah, Bastila. Thank you for arriving so promptly." He turned to smile at her. Vossa was known to be one of the more pleasant Masters in the Order, given to easy smiles and not one to favour titles and hierarchy. He was a Consular known to enjoy thought and debate about the nature of the Force, and the Jedi. It was certain he was one of the least preferred Masters by the Council to receive Bastila's prickly package, but he'd been the only one within range, and Revan's condition would not wait.

He handed a datapad to her. "You've had little time to actually observe her since you arrived, Padawan. I thought you might appreciate an opportunity to check up."

Bastila scrolled through the pad, mostly for form's sake. The medical terminology within was foreign to her. "How is she?"

Vossa looked up at the comatose woman. "Physically, she's almost completely healed. Mentally, it's difficult to say. The shrapnel caused extensive damage to her brain. It's a wonder you managed to keep her alive, Padawan."

"Did I, though? What's left of her in there?"

"What do your senses tell you?"

Bastila considered, stepping near the kolto tank, looking up at the closed eyes of the woman floating within. Her eyes were closed, and a breath mask obscured most of a face . She floated in the healing kolto, limply, not having shown the slightest bit of awareness in the ten days she'd been in the Jedi's care. She leaned in, looking over the strong, honed physique, the pale skin, and the short mane of black hair which formed a floating globe around Revan's head. Her face, attractive by any measure, was slack and unmoving. Her eyelids did not twitch... no dreams filled the void where her thoughts should have been. The veins and ashen tint to her skin, the signs of corruption by the Dark Side, were slowly fading. What did that mean?

"Nothing. No thought... no sense of her in the Force. It's like sensing an animal, or a newborn."

Vossa nodded. "I feel the same. I fear you may have saved Revan's body, Bastila, but not Revan herself."

Bastila's feelings vacillated between pity and immense relief. "But, then... we'll never know why, or how she did what she did..."

"Not unless Malak is willing to explain, and that seems unlikely." His lips twisted into a grimace. "He's already started putting down objectors to his new leadership, far more brutally than Revan would have. I fear what will happen when he's solidified his position. He lacks her cunning and artistry, but makes up for it in sheer brute force."

"Then we've gained nothing," Bastila nearly moaned.

Vossa raised a hairless yellow brow at her. His lekku shifted slightly on his shoulders. "On the contrary. We've gained time. The Republic now has an opportunity to align its forces, to strike and attempt to push them back while Malak's attention is focused inward. And we Jedi have a chance to try to find out where these fleets of the Sith are coming from, even if we are forced to do so without Revan's help."

Somehow, Bastila doubted that Revan would have been entirely helpful even if she'd been captured unhurt. The Jedi would have been far too occupied simply trying to contain her.

She shivered, remembering the confrontation on the bridge of Revan's flagship. For all her bluster - _"You cannot win, Revan!"_ - Bastila had been sure she was going to die. It'd been a hard fight, getting to the command centre of the _Leviathan_, but Bastila had distinguished herself well; and with each victory, each fallen Sith, her spirits had risen. She had been sure that with with her Jedi partners, Revan would surely be overwhelmed, and would surrender before their righteous might.

Then, they'd made it to the bridge. And Bastila had stood before the Dark Lord, and her confidence – her arrogance – had evaporated, like a wisp of smoke against a starship engine.

Revan was no lowly soldier, no Force-adept bully with delusions of grandeur. Revan was power, like staring at the heart of the Force. Her dark power was overwhelming, terrifying; yet glorious and enticing at the same time. What had the Masters been thinking, sending her against such an opponent? She would have torn Bastila and her forces to pieces... or worse, captured them, turning them to the Dark Side.

If not for Malak.

Bastila sighed, amazed by the irony of it all. She owed her life, her purity as a Jedi, to the new reigning Dark Lord of the Sith. Truly, the galaxy was filled with surprises.

"Padawan?" Vossa prompted. Bastila blinked, coming back to herself. The Jedi Master did not berate her for her daydreaming. Unlike Vrook, Vossa encouraged such introspection.

"What will happen to her?" she asked.

"I honestly do not know. It'll be decided by the Council, I'm sure." He tilted his head, and his lekku twitched with restrained excitement. "This is something of an unusual situation. Assuming she's even capable of functioning as a sentient again, we can assume that her memories, her persona, are severely damaged... perhaps even destroyed."

He looked at Bastila, and his eyes gleamed. "If so, then we Jedi are placed in a difficult position. Is it right for us to judge her based on something she can't remember doing? Something she can't even remember the _reasons_ for doing?"

"I think the survivors of Telos, Morrihavan, and the Ivinuk shipyards would be quite glad to judge her!" she exclaimed. She blushed, and forced her voice to a more even level. "Whether she remembers the actions or not does not undo them."

"Quite right. Justice must be served, yes? But justice and vengeance walk the same paths, Padawan." He looked at her, and for a moment she saw the hidden fount of wisdom that he kept hidden behind a cheerful manner and random speculation. "It is quite easy to mistake one for the other."

He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "Forgive my rambling, Bastila. The philosophy of choice and consequence is one of my favourite topics, and so rarely do I get a chance to discuss it, much less see an example of it in such plain light. It is a surprisingly deep subject, particularly for those like you and I who rely upon the Force for guidance."

Bastila nodded her head, though she didn't really understand. "Master, has there been word from the Council about when I will be sent back out?"

Vossa quirked a smooth brow. "Actually, yes. The Republic task force you arrived with has already been sortied."

"What! Without me?"

Now his expression was slightly reproachful. "You will be required to escort Revan to Dantooine."

"Why me? She's a vegetable now. Anyone could do it."

"Not anyone, for precisely the reasons you mentioned moments ago. There are many who want justice' upon Revan for her actions. They won't care that the woman who committed those acts is effectively dead." He pursed his lips and looked at her thoughtfully. "I appreciate that you wish to aid the war effort and do your part, Padawan. But try to remember that that was all Revan and Malak wished to do, too."

The Sentinel blushed furiously at the admonishment. Vossa smiled again, taking pity on the young woman. "Come now. You've only got another two days here, and I doubt you've had a chance to really experience some of the more interesting Iziz cuisine..."

* * *

Something was wrong.

She didn't know how she knew this. Indeed, for a length of time she wasn't able to measure, she wasn't even aware of herself.

The healers amongst the Jedi had declared the damage to her brain catastrophic, impossible to repair. But they, more than any, should have expected the least expected of outcomes. The Force had a way of making the impossible possible... especially where one of the strongest of its children was concerned.

Confused and frightened, Revan woke up.

The name, had it been said to her, would have meant nothing. She couldn't remember her name, couldn't remember what a name was. Pain; betrayal. Those were the first concepts to leak through the damage done to her mind.

Grey eyes snapped open, darting about, seeing but not comprehending. Sound was strangely muffled; there was slight resistance as she attempted to move her limbs.

She felt the warm liquid bubbling around her and panicked, an animal's instinctive reaction to being immersed. There was something on her face, and she tore at it, heedless of the fact that the mask was responsible for bringing her air. Her sharp nails scratched the skin of her face, but she didn't care. Her legs flailed as she thrashed in the kolto, thumping against the clear sides of the tank, churning the healing liquid into a froth.

She managed to tear the breath mask from her face, and the tank's automatic systems, sensing this, automatically drained the tank before she could drown in the kolto mixture. She was dropped to the ground, her legs unable to support her. She lay on the slippery bottom of the tube, retching out the lungful of liquid she'd managed to inhale before the tube drained.

"What! Oh my! Oh dear. Miss, are you quite alright?"

A medical maintenance droid, responsible for monitoring patients and systems at night, tottered up to her. She shrieked at the mechanical figure, scrambling backwards until she bumped against the rear of the kolto tank. She managed to get her feet under her, remembering how to stand, trying to retreat further back than the transparent wall of the tank would allow.

"Please be calm, Miss. Confusion after a prolonged stay in a kolto tank is perfectly normal-"

The words only agitated her further. She couldn't understand what the shiny, twitching thing was, couldn't understand why it was making noise. She was helpless, trapped; and this ignited a rage within her. Her fists clenched, and her teeth clenched, her yells of fright changing to a hiss of fury.

"-If you give me a moment, I will summon one of the doctors to examine you-"

With a feral screech, she launched herself at the droid, knocking the slender machine to the ground with herself on top of it. She pounded on its head with all her considerable might, ignoring the pain it caused in her hands, the blood seeping from her knuckles. The droid wailed in electronic panic, and without thought, she wrapped her arms around the polished head, twisting with all the strength she could muster. To her own surprise, the head popped off, cleanly. Wires trailed between the head and the body, and she jerked the head away, tearing them loose. The light in the droid's eyes went out, and it ceased its squealing, which she found pleasing.

For long moments she merely sat there, straddling the headless body, her rage forgotten. She clutched the head to her breast, and her hand stroked the polished metal, finding the smoothness fascinating, the glint of the lights upon it nearly hypnotising.

A shape moved in the reflection, and she held it up, looking. Was that herself? Her face was distorted in the battered metal, and for some reason this bothered her terribly. With a cry, she flung the droid head away.

She had to escape... had to get away!

Standing unsteadily, she took a halting step, and then another. Some part of her recognized the door, and she approached it cautiously. It slid open at her proximity; she nearly fell backwards as she jumped away, and the door slid shut again.

She moved closer, and the door opened again; backing away, it closed. She repeated the process several times, making a sound, low in her throat, of amusement. Finally, she stepped forward, stepping slowly into the hallway beyond.

Unlike the medical bay, which had its lights lowered, the hall way brightly lit, and the light agitated her. She felt vulnerable, exposed; this angered her.

Nothing akin to rational thought went on in her head. There was only instinct and sensation. Her head hurt terribly. She was tired, and dizzy. But she could also feel that she was in danger... there were enemies about. Part of her wanted to attack, to kill... but another, dominant part demanded that she run... flee! Find safety, so that she could rest, heal, and recover her strength. Then she could return, return and destroy those who had hurt her.

So she ran.

The endless corridors of the installation confused her, and she picked directions at random. It was very late – though she didn't know this – and the halls were empty, with only a few sentients moving about. She ducked behind obstacles, finding hiding spots without conscious effort, watching the occasional wanderer pass by with a mixture of hatred, curiosity, and fear.

She did this for long minutes: running, hiding, becoming more an more lost within the labyrinthine corridors of the enclave. And as she did so her agitation grew, as if she was aware that time was running out, that every moment wasted increased the chances that the entire complex would come alive, and begin searching for her. The kolto mixture was drying, making her skin sticky, and her hair was plastered to her face, occasionally straying into her eyes. She was cold, and uncomfortable, and her head still hurt.

Rounding one corner to reveal another corridor, identical to the last, she was ready to screech with frustration. But something caught her eye; this corridor was not completely identical to the last. A set of symbols were drawn upon one wall, in a bright yellow paint. As she stared at the lines and curves, they seemed to dance, gaining meaning.

"Eh...ecks... exit. Exit." Her mouth moved of its own accord, and she rolled the syllables across her tongue experimentally, feeling the words out. She knew the symbols and the sounds were connected somehow, though she didn't know how she made that connection, and didn't much care. But there was something about the sounds, about the symbols, that promised safety, escape.

She dashed into the direction shown by the yellow arrow beside the words. She came to several more junctions, and each time she was able to find the same symbols and an arrow, which she followed. Until finally she came to the end of a corridor, occupied by another door.

The woman approached cautiously, wondering if this door would behave the same as the first she'd seen; it did, sliding open at her approach. Ducking to the side as it did so, she carefully craned her neck out, satisfied to see no one. With that, she slowly stepped out of the door.

It was very late at night, though she didn't know this, and the streets were empty. The stars sparkled above her, and she laughed at the sight, reaching up to try to grab them. She wanted them; they wanted her. Yet, how to reach them? She couldn't jump high enough!

Off to the left, there was a low, rumbling roar, causing her to duck into the nearest shadow. A large boxy shape, a dark spot in the starry sky, rose from the horizon. It hovered for a moment, then part of the shape became bright as a sun, and the object shot off into the sky, towards the stars she coveted. She watched this happen from the safety of her shadow, utterly fascinated.

"_Starship._"

Creeping from her hiding place, she made her way in the direction the ship had come. A few people passed her, and she would duck into an alley, or climb onto an object, until they were gone. Soon enough, she was at the spaceport, looking at the entrance gate occupied by a pair of bored human guards. It was brighter here, and there were fewer shadows to hide in. And there were none at all near the two men; frustrated, she was unable to find a way past them.

As she watched, a pair of humans walked up to the checkpoint. They held something in their hands, which they showed the two guards, said "Thank you," and proceeded inward. She didn't know what they held; she knew she didn't have it. But the words seemed appropriate.

"Thank... you. Thank you. Thank you." Perhaps it would be enough. She stepped forward to try.

It had been shaping up to be a guard shift like any other for the two Onderon men – namely, long and boring. Sunrise, and shift change, was a mere two hours away, and they were looking forward to getting some sleep. As a result, both had to look twice, making sure they weren't dreaming things, when a slender, attractive, _half-naked_ woman emerged from the shadows, walking calmly toward them. She was curvaceous and graceful, her body and her movement showing the results of endless training and exercise.

One looked at his partner, confirming she wasn't wishful imagining. Offering a heartfelt thank you!' to the gods, he unconsciously straightened, puffing out his chest. Unfortunately, she showed no signs of stopping to seduce them or anything else; she made a beeline for the entrance to the spaceport, barely making eye contact with them as she approached the barricade.

The first guard cleared his throat. "Um... excuse me, ma'am? Before you leave I'm going to have to see your identification." He looked her over, acutely aware that if she had identification at all, she was hiding it in a very interesting place.

She nodded at him. "Thank you," she said in a raspy alto, but continued on toward the gate.

That wasn't the answer he expected. He blinked, confused. Looking at her more closely, he noticed that she stank of kolto, and the garments which barely preserved her modesty were standard hospital issue. Her neck-length raven hair was stuck to her face, and her skin was oddly pale. His erstwhile hopes changed to concern. "Ma'am? We need to see your identification, ma'am." He put out a hand to block her.

"Thank you," she said again.

"Ma'am, we can't let you through without ID. If you'll wait here-" He grabbed her arm as she passed by, trying to be gentle, but not allowing her to walk past into the spaceport, where he feared she might get herself hurt.

He worried about the wrong person; the woman growled and spun, locking out the arm which had grabbed her and smashing it with her other elbow in a sudden explosion of violence. She chopped him in the throat, cutting his sudden cry into a choked gurgle, and then seized his face. Knocking him over her hip, she drove his head into the ferrocrete ground with crippling force.

The second guard jumped away, shocked, as his partner was demolished in a heartbeat. He scrambled for his blaster rifle and aimed it at the suddenly deadly woman. The weapon didn't intimidate her; she looked at it and hissed – _actually hissed!_ - at the man.

He braced the rifle against his shoulder, finger on the trigger. "Don't move! Get on your knees, hands on your head! _Now_!"

She looked at him, and nothing in her expression approached human. "_Die._"

Deciding enough was enough, he pulled the trigger. But she was already moving, darting to the side to let the bolt pass harmlessly past her into the wall of the checkpoint. Inhumanly fast, she was on him before he could fire again, seizing the barrel with both hands, pointing it away even as her elbow arced into his face. For a moment they struggled over the weapon, the woman proving to be astonishingly strong, her arms wrapped in corded, whip-like muscle.

Suddenly she reversed, pushing the rifle instead pulling. The guard had one brief, horrible moment to realize that the muzzle was under his chin. Then nothing.

She watched the guard crumble to the ground, confused and angry. Why hadn't they let her pass? What was identification'? The word was familiar, but the meaning wasn't coming to her, dancing just beyond the edge of her thoughts. Her actions when the one had grabbed her had come naturally, far more easily than the meaning of the words he's spoken. Now they weren't trying to stop her, and that was good.

But they had made noise, and she knew that others would be coming. Turning, she dashed through the checkpoint, bare feet making no noise. She found herself in a giant, open area, discomfortingly illuminated, and dotted with ships of all makes and sizes. There were more people here, and she ran to a corner of the tarmac, hiding behind a stack of crates and barrels.

Fortunately, none of the people noticed her. They were all too busy with their own tasks, preparing ships for flight, loading or unloading cargo, making repairs. There weren't just humans here, but Duros, Twi'lek, Trandoshan, and even a Bith. The names of the species came to her as she saw them, but she was far more interested in the ships. As she watched, another one – a tiny shuttle this time – lifted from the ground with a hum, and slipped through the sky over her head, disappearing beyond her view past the wall which surrounded the spaceport.

Far to her right, she saw a pair of humans loading some boxes into a large, boxy ship similar to the one she'd first seen. These humans seemed to be going out of their way to not make noise. They looked around them cautiously, as they stacked items onto a flat carrier which had extended out from the bottom of the ship. Intrigued, she crept closer, keeping to the darkness. Speaking to each other, one of the humans nodded and entered the ship via the boarding ramp. The other human stayed behind, operating a control, and the carrier began to slowly rise into the ship.

She made a split-second decision. Sprinting around to the far side of the ship, quiet as a whisper, she approached the carrier. The remaining human's own suspicion worked against him; as he looked over his shoulder for others watching him, she jumped and pulled herself up onto the loading carrier from the other side. Hiding from his view behind the boxes, she rode the loader up into the bowels of the transport.

Outside, the man who had entered the ship first leaned out the hatch and called to his companion. "It up?"

"It's up," he replied. "We've got an hour until the guard shift changes and they do their walkabout. Let's not stick around. Tell Hovas to start the engine."

The first man nodded, retreating back inside the ship. The second followed, hopping up the boarding ladder, then sealing the hatch behind him.

Within five minutes, the ship was rising into the air, bound for space, carrying more than just contraband.

* * *

"This is a disaster!" Bastila moaned. Again, she watched the monitoring camera footage of Revan emerging from her kolto tank and attacking the medical droid.

"It is certainly an unfortunate turn of events, Bastila. No-one is to blame here, though. We could not have expected this. Both our own observation and that of the doctors concluded that she would not wake up without intensive assistance from specialized doctors in the Core." Despite his words, Vossa looked nearly as upset as the young Sentinel. "If we're guilty of anything, it's of underestimating how much the Force was with her."

"Now she'll go back to the Sith. We rescued her from her own apprentice and healed her. I'm sure she'll be _suitably_ grateful," she commented bitterly.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." He gestured at the images on the screen. "Look at her in the video... she's almost feral. I'm not convinced about how much she might remember."

"She remembered enough to kill a guard and hospitalize another."

The Jedi Master nodded, unable to deny it. "Yet, from the survivor's account, she used no Force powers. He still has no idea that she is – or I should say, was – a Jedi." He rubbed a yellow-skinned hand across his head and paced away. "My senses still tell me that what escaped here was not the Dark Lord Revan, but whether she could become something like her again, I do not know."

Bastila looked at him, worried. "What do we tell the Council?"

He held up a palm to her. "We tell them everything. Do not fear, Padawan. The responsibility for this mess lies with me, not you. I'll make sure they understand that."

She cast her eyes down, ashamed. "That's not what I was worried about," she said, though secretly she knew she was – at least partly. "I'm more concerned about what we should do from here."

Vossa watched the video again, fascinated by the actions and expression of the almost-person it recorded. He watched her cower from the droid, and the raw fear and confusion on her face. "We do what we have to do... deal with Malak and his forces. As for Revan... obviously, the Force is not done with her."


	2. Chapter 2: Lost

The _Endar Spire_ was dying.

Carth Onasi knew this, could feel it in his bones. Decades of space flight had given him a sixth sense when it came to starships, and though he was no engineer able to tell the speed of the ship from the vibrations of the deck, he knew matters of battle and survival. And the _Spire'_s life was leaving her. She was holding together, just barely, for the sake of her crew, but time was running out. Bastila was away, after so much protest. Now he just had to wait for the last of the _Spire'_s crew.

Right now, her crew consisted of only two people. Two out of a hundred. A quarter had managed to get away on the escape pods; the rest were dead, murdered by the Sith currently infesting the _Spire_'s corridors. All gone, except for Carth himself, and the one red dot currently moving across the deck schematic, trying to get to the escape pods.

A power conduit blew behind him, and Carth shuffled nervously. He wouldn't leave a man behind; but dying along with that man didn't much make sense either.

He hit the comm. "Ulgo, faster would be better!"

"_Aye sir, I'm hurrying sir. Pair of Sith tried to pin me down."_

"I understand Ensign, but we're running out of time."

"_Aye. Hmm... there's something behind this door. I... oh, oh damn."_ The panic was obvious in Ulgo's voice. _"Get out! Get out, sir, don't wait for me..."_

"What? What is it, Ensign?"

"_Dark Jedi! Go, sir!"_ The link was suddenly cut.

"Ulgo! Ulgo!" Carth jammed the call button again. "Respond, damn it!"

Helpless, he watched the red dot on his screen suddenly fade. In its place was left a blue dot... one of the enemy. According to Trask Ulgo, a blue dot indicating a Dark Jedi.

The dot started to move toward the escape pods. And Carth was alone.

Cursing, Carth turned and jumped into the last remaining escape pod, silently begging the _Endar Spire_ to last just a bit longer... but not too much longer. If she was going to die, it was only right that she take as many of the Sith as she could with her.

He pulled the launch lever before even taking his seat, the sudden G-forces of launch slamming him into his seat as the pod was fired from the side of the Republic cruiser. He scrambled to secure his crash belt as the pod shook from the violent atmospheric entry; touchdowns in an escape pod were rarely gentle, and after all he'd been through, being reduced to a chunky paste on the inside hull of the pod was not on his itinerary.

The drop through the atmosphere seemed to take forever, and all the while Carth was conscious of the fact that the guns of the Sith fleet which had suddenly surrounded the _Spire_ were probably traversing, trying to target the fleeing pods. But the buffeting of re-entry smoothed out, and no furious bolts of energy arrived to crack open his sanctuary. Carth watched the limited display in front of him count down the altitude at an alarming rate.

Seconds before impact, there was a hiss, and suddenly the pod began filling with white foam fired from jets arrayed around the tiny cabin. The foam expanded, filling every available nook, and then suddenly hardened, pinning everything into place – including the pod's squishy occupant.

The pod hit the surface like a hammer, jarring Carth in his protective foam padding, grinding his teeth together. He could taste blood. Then there was the curious sensation of free-fall for a moment, and then another crash.

_I'm bouncing. Oh damn._

More free-fall, shorter than the first, and then another crash. Then it felt like he was in a centrifuge, as the pod stayed on the ground but continued to roll. The foam around him was starting to soften, dissolving as it was designed to do – but the pod wasn't finished, and Carth was unable to move, plastered into his seat by inertia.

Finally there was one last jarring blow, and the pod stopped. It didn't feel like Carth's stomach or head had, though, and he hung limply in his seat, trying desperately not to be sick.

_They'll be coming for the pod. Got to move!_

He kicked weakly, trying to dislodge the foam around his legs, He opened his eyes, and mentally ordered the world to stop spinning – it was hard enough to figure out where the exit was, damnit. By luck – or the Force, though he didn't put much faith in that – the pod was right-side up, and the hatch was to his left, where it was supposed to be. He released his straps, by some miracle not falling on his face, and staggered to his feet.

The foam had almost completely dissolved, but he still had to bat some pieces away from the door release. With a pull, the door's explosive bolts blew, and the door simply fell off, as it had been designed. Planetary air flooded the pod, and Carth breathed deeply.

_Taris._ He didn't much care for this planet, but right now it was a glorious sight.

He managed to stumble out of the pod, nearly falling flat on his face as he stepped planetside for the first time in weeks. Every muscle hurt, and his inner ear still stubbornly insisted that he was listing to the right. There was nobody immediately around, the population having had sufficient common sense to seek shelter when wreckage and escape pods started raining from the sky, but off in the night Carth could see humanoid shapes, and some of those shapes appeared to be pointing at him.

Checking to make sure his blasters were still firmly attached to his belt, he turned and dashed down the street as quickly as he was able. He heard a shout from behind him, but ignored it – he was in no shape to sort friend from foe, or deal with an encounter of the latter. The night line of Taris towered above him, and he counted himself lucky to have landed on the dark side of the planet.

He chuckled to himself at the thought of considering the Dark Side of anything lucky'.

_Time to find some shelter, Onasi. You're getting punchy._

He seemed to have landed in a fairly isolated section of the city. A bedroom district, largely occupied by the large, rounded apartment buildings common on the city-planet. He picked a building at random, one that looked run-down, but not so run-down as to be a blatant hiding spot for a fugitive, and ducked inside.

It was late, so the corridors were empty. He made a circuit of the outer ring, trying doors, checking locks quietly. The interior of the building was plain, clean but not particularly well-maintained, and he took that as a good sign.

One door, halfway around the ring, slid open without issue. Cautiously, Carth peeked inside. There was no-one in the apartment, a single-room affair, and judging from the complete lack of personal effects, he guessed the suite had been unoccupied for some time.

_Jackpot._

He stepped in, turning to use his very basic security skills to jam the lock so only he could open it. It would barely slow down an experienced slicer, but hopefully it'd give him enough time to wake up and grab his blasters.

That done, he turned to one of the bed lined up against the wall. It lacked blankets, but it still looked like the most enticing sight in the galaxy to him. He didn't bother to take off his jacket, but simply collapsed across it, dropping his belt with his blasters onto the floor beside him.

He was asleep within moments.

* * *

Taris, Carth decided, was an armpit of a planet. 

He'd woken up late in the afternoon, thanks to his exhaustion from the night before and general space-lag. That was fine with him; subterfuge and dodging the enemy on an occupied planet was never a morning activity. He preferred to pencil it in between dinner and bedtime.

Upon waking up, he'd taken stock of his situation. Aside from some bruises and a bitten lip, he was largely uninjured from his spectacular arrival the night before. He had his blasters, but hadn't had time to fetch his armour from his quarters before the _Endar Spire_ had blown... he'd have to remedy that as soon as possible. Probably the best news was that his hiding spot had remained undisturbed. The apartment was neglected, but the water ran, he was able to slice the lock, and the beds were relatively clean. He'd had tougher living arrangements aboard ship.

His first goal was to try to find and contact some of the other escapees from the _Spire_, with special emphasis on Bastila. The young woman was arrogant, inexperienced, and just generally annoying, but she was a Jedi, and extremely valuable to the war effort. And, logically, when trying to find someone, the right place to start was at the nearest bar.

During the day, the halls of his building were somewhat more lively, with aliens travelling about, and even a Twi'lek, named Larrim, selling wares from a small stand. Questioning the merchant, Carth discovered that he'd landed in nearly the ideal situation; the building was largely abandoned by uncaring owners, and squatting was typical. The tenants had no desire to draw attention to themselves, and Carth fit right in.

Of more disturbing news was the fact that the Sith had imposed a planet-wide quarantine since the battle in the sky the night before. Any ships attempting to leave or land on Taris were shot down.

"When did the Sith get control of Taris?" he asked. Surely he hadn't slept through a planetary conquest!

The green Twi'lek raised a brow. "Over a week ago. They pretty much landed and took over. The primary government leaders were executed. Taris didn't have much of a military to begin with, and I doubt anybody expected such a huge Sith fleet to arrive here."

"I didn't hear anything about this from off-world."

Larrim shrugged. "No surprise there. They've been censoring outgoing communications, but not cutting them off completely. At least, not until the quarantine."

"So I'm stuck here?" Carth complained. "I was supposed to meet an employer on Nar Shadda."

"Looks like. Tough break, human."

Walking away, Carth shook his head, considering how much more complicated the situation had become. He wasn't really surprised by the quarantine – he guessed that would happen as soon as the Sith realized Bastila had escaped to the planet. But the news that Taris had been under enemy control for over a week was shaking, signalling a pretty spectacular failure in Republic Intelligence. It had obviously been part of a trap for the _Endar Spire_. But the fact that the Sith knew when and where they were going to make a stop was disturbing indeed.

Admiral Dodonna called him paranoid. As far as Carth was concerned, it wasn't paranoia when he was right.

He stopped his speculation for a moment upon stepping out of the building, enjoying his first real taste of planetary sunshine in weeks. He hadn't had a chance to go planetside when the _Endar Spire_ had picked up the Jedi group. He was impressed to see that despite being an aged city-planet, Taris actually kept its atmosphere fairly clean. The durasteel which formed the streets and corridors of the Upper City was actually well-maintained, and the sight of the shining skyscrapers of the city towering around him was actually impressive.

Feeling his spirits raised a bit, Carth considered the possibility that his initial impressions of Taris might have been wrong, and headed in the direction of the cantina Larrim had said was nearby.

Speeders sprinted above him and below the street platform he walked on, but he himself was stuck with more mundane travel. The streets were surprisingly busy, with people striding from place to place, and droids tottering about. He didn't speak to any; the Tarisian natives seemed to make a point of not looking at him, and he had no desire to speak with a droid that might be programmed to report any conversations it had had.

Soon enough, he found himself walking past an escape pod, which had several scavenging droids crawling over it, disassembling it and transporting it elsewhere. His own pod, he knew. He showed the requisite amount of interest in the sight that would be expected from a passer-by, but did not linger near the crash site.

After about ten minutes' walk, during which he noted the location of a weapons and armour shop he'd doubtlessly be visiting later, he found himself approaching the cantina. He was actually looking forward to the visit – he was tired and hungry, and he needed a drink. He tensed as he spotted a Sith guard, gleaming in the typical chrome armour the troops wore, standing guard outside the establishment.

He kept his hand near his blasters as he approach, but whatever the Sith's purpose, it apparently didn't involve interfering with those coming and going from the bar. The mirror-like faceplate only turned toward the pilot once as he entered the building.

Inside, he found the same things as could be found in cantinas the galaxy over: Pazaak sharks, waiting patiently by their tables, sentients of various species cutting deals in quiet corners, and drunken men annoying women. But there was a frustrated undertone to the crowd, an air of resentment and resignation. Carth slipped through the crowd, heading to the bar to order himself an ale with the few credits he had on him.

After getting his drink, it was a matter of trying to use his badly atrophied social skills. The Pazaak players wouldn't waste their time on him unless he was willing to play; unfortunately, his own deck had been left in his quarters on the _Spire_, and he didn't have the credits to lose repeatedly anyway.

Credits. He really needed some credits. There was a duelling arena in the place, and he had no doubt that he could do very well, but plastering his face across holoscreens didn't seem like a smart idea when he was trying to avoid capture.

He wandered in that direction anyway; at least he could chat up the contestants, pretending to be interested in duelling but lacking the guts to do it. If nothing else, if he could keep it as a last-resort.

Walking toward the back of the bar, he was interrupted by a young woman, dressed in expensive clothing, looking entirely out of place in the smoky bar. She could have been considered a kind of pretty, but the lines from her sneer were already beginning to set into the skin of her face. A man and woman stood with her, but they looked more as if they were trapped than enjoying themselves.

The sneer aimed at Carth. "It's about time! I wouldn't have thought fetching a simple drink would have taken so long, but _obviously_ I've overestimated the quality of the help in this place."

He scanned around him. "Are you speaking to me, miss?"

"Are you deaf as well as dim-witted? Of course I am!" She jammed her fists into her hips, and glared at the drink he held. "Is that _Corellian_ ale? I distinctly remember ordering Alderaanian fire whiskey!"

Carth's overtaxed temper began to fray. "Look, lady, I'm not your waiter. I'm just here for a drink myself."

The woman scowled at him, yet never seemed to lose her haughty air. "Why, you ignorant peasant! My _father_ will hear about this!" She strode away, fuming, and Carth could only watch her go incredulously. The man and woman who had been standing with her shot the pilot a grateful look, turning to each other with a relieved look on their faces.

"I think you'll probably regret that, pal."

Carth turned to the human sitting at a nearby table, a plain-looking man wearing a Taris city maintenance uniform. His top buttons were undone, and he nursed a Corellian ale in front of him. "What? Why?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

The man sat back, apparently amused. "_That_, my friend, was Gina Lavin, daughter of one of the high Tarisian nobles'. High on credits, short on brains. Mistress of all she surveys, that one. You could have Revan himself standing here, and she'd be bossing him about." He shook his head. "She doesn't like backtalk from us peasants. I think you'll find she'll cause you trouble, later."

Carth looked at the man, and then at the direction Gina had left. He shook his head. "Great, just great."

Taris. Definitely an armpit.

If nothing else, Gina had at least given him an opportunity to chat with one of the locals; the man laughed, and gestured for Carth to sit. He had done so gladly.

Posing as a ground-bound merchant captain, Carth and the man – a Taris worker named Ulirek – chatted for a while, with Carth carefully sipping his drink, trying to conserve his limited credits. Ulirek asked him what cargo he'd been carrying; when he replied that he was shipping a ship-full of pet gizka, the look on the other man's face nearly made him laugh out loud. Ulirek was well into his ale, and didn't think twice about the questions the pilot asked. Carth didn't find out anything new about the Sith quarantine, but did manage to find out what he'd already suspected: the Sith were after Bastila, who was suspected of having landed via escape pod in the Undercity.

"Escape pods?" Carth pretended to muse. "Even those would make some pretty nice salvage."

"Hah, good luck, pal," Ulirek replied. "You'd have to get down to the Undercity to get them, and that place makes Mustafar look like a vacation spot. Even if you find them, you'll have to deal with the swoop gangs and the Sith... and none of them are inclined to share."

Carth shrugged, pretending to give up on the idea. He chatted about inconsequentials for a while longer, until his drink was done. Then he politely excused himself, wishing the man luck.

Leaving the cantina, he walked toward his apartment while thinking. It sounded as if almost all of the pods, except for his own, had crashed into the lower areas of Taris. Thus, he had to get down there. But Ulirek had mentioned that the lifts to the lower sections of the city were guarded by the Sith, which made just walking down unlikely. Carth racked his brain, trying to figure out the best way to get to the Lower City.

As he stepped around the corner toward the arms and armour shop, he received a nasty surprise, in the form of a fist to the face. He reeled back, seeing stars, grabbing for his blasters. Just as he got them clear of the holsters, a blade slashed down, cutting into his arm and causing him to drop one blaster, while someone else simply knocked the other from his grip.

_Sith!_ he thought, as someone grabbed hold of his arms, trapping them behind him. A pair of fists found their way into his gut, knocking the breath from him.

He wheezed, bracing himself for more punishment, but it didn't come immediately. He lifted his head, blinking his eyes. A Rodian stood in front of him holding a vibroblade, and turning his head, he could see a second one restraining him. For looking, he was rewarded with a punch across the face from the first Rodian's off-hand. He nearly crumpled from the blow, vision swimming.

"Just a moment, please."

He wasn't sure where the voice had come from, until one of the Rodians seized his chin and forced him to look forward. When his vision cleared, he realized he was looking at the rich brat from the bar, Gina. She looked back at him, her arms crossed, a smug look on her face.

"A simple amount of deference would have saved you from this. I don't like doing this, but like my daddy says: peasants need to be reminded of their place, otherwise the whole world starts turning upside-down."

Carth shook his head, though that didn't do much to make the planet stop swirling. This had to be a sick joke.

"Don't worry, they'll leave you alive. Mostly."

If he was going to be beaten up for being saucy he was going to earn it, damnit. But before he could open his mouth to really tell her what he thought, the Rodian behind him let go, just in time for the first one to plant a boot in his gut, sending him tumbling backwards. He heard the sound of the second thug pulling a vibroblade.

The second thug went to kick Carth; he took the blow, but grabbed the foot. Twisting and pushing, he knocked the Rodian off his feet, throwing him away. This got Carth the space he needed to push himself to his feet, staggering against the nearby wall. The standing Rodian pointed at his partner and laughed while the alien climbed to his feet. The other replied with indignant Rodese, while the first shot back some amused teasing.

_Great. I'm the afternoon entertainment._ He braced himself, ignoring the wound on his arm. He fought Sith... some tough-guy flunkies weren't going to get the best of him.

"Hello, Gina."

Both thugs halted their advance at the words, spoken in a low, smooth alto... and actually stepped back, away from Carth as he panted against the wall. Carth risked a glance at the source of the voice, and saw a woman emerge from the shadows – as if the dark was reluctant to give her up.

The newcomer looked every inch the warrior. Wearing a dark grey jacket, sleek muscle rippled beneath the belly of her tight black shirt and trousers, doing nothing to lessen the feminine appeal of the curve of her breasts and buttocks. She walked toward the group with slow, measured steps, every moment implying power and grace, like the mountain cats he'd seen on his homeworld as a child. A shoulder-length mane of dark hair was tied behind her head, revealing a smooth, pale face that could have been considered beautiful, if not for the cold expression it carried.

Grey eyes flickered across Carth, noting the blood which dripped from his mouth and the wound on his arm, and swept across the two Rodian thugs to land on Gina, who suddenly appeared far less arrogant and sure of herself.

"I believe I've spoken to you before about resolving your ego problems in front of Davik's businesses, Gina." Carth watched in fascination as the two thugs shied away from the mysterious stranger, their antennae wilting with nervousness, their earlier joviality gone.

"He... he's not one of yours... is he?"

"See? That's just it. You don't _know_. Deal with your issues on your own ground, that was the rule. I don't like repeating myself."

Largely forgotten about, Carth pushed away from the wall, gathering himself for another round in case the brat and her thugs decided to take both him and the new woman on. He quickly located his dropped blaster, gauging how quickly he could dive for it and start shooting.

The woman had taken up a place between him and the thugs, who had back-pedalled to keep their distance. Carth was surprised by their reaction; sure, she looked strong and tough, but there was only one of her, and her hands were still empty. The Rodians looked between her and their employer, fingering their vibroblades, as nervous as if Malak himself was standing in front of them.

"Y-you can't kill me... my father-"

"-Is nothing, Gina. He has credits... but that's all he has. If he were eliminated, do you think the other nobles would care? You know who the power is on Taris – though you seem to wilfully forget sometimes." The newcomer shook her head disapprovingly. "I think you need to be reminded. Don't worry, I'll leave you alive. Mostly."

Carth had been inching toward his blaster when the woman moved forward in an unhurried pace. The two guards, exhibiting more loyalty than sense, raised their weapons nervously. The black-clad woman seemed to barely notice their presence.

The rightmost guard stabbed at her when she was within range, a pathetic poke, merely meant to cause her to keep her distance. She dodged it neatly, darting inward, seizing the Rodian's wrist and the upper edge of the blade, spinning it in his grip and jamming it upwards between his legs. Though he knew Rodians kept their sexual organs elsewhere, Carth winced in sympathy.

The other came at her back; without even looking, she seized the blaster from the hip of the first thug. She lifted it into a parry with her left hand, the blade coming at her head scraping harmlessly by along the barrel of the weapon. The overcommitted Rodian found himself stumbling forward into her outstretched arm, his forehead pressed against the muzzle of the blaster.

She looked at him, and he had enough time to squeak in horror. Then he crumpled backwards, a smoking hole in the centre of his head. His partner slid to the ground off his own blade moments later.

Seeing that her bodyguards were finished, Gina turned, screaming, and tried to run. The woman's head whipped about, and suddenly her confiscated blade was spinning through the air, to bury itself firmly into the rich woman's right buttock. She went down with an anguished cry.

The woman in black practically sauntered over to the fallen noble; when she was close enough, she grabbed the blade, still sticking upward from the woman's backside, and yanked it out.

Crouching down, she lifted Gina's head with the flat of the blade, smearing the noble with her own blood. "Solve your own problems on your own ground. Otherwise, you risk angering someone with... friends. I trust I won't need to repeat this lesson any more?" Gina squeaked a negative, tears rolling down her face. "Good. Good bye, Gina."

Gina, if nothing else, had the sense not to waste the reprieve she'd been granted. She scrambled to her feet, and limped away as fast as her damaged backside would let her. The moment when Carth realized he probably should have done the same was when the black-clad woman turned around and looked at him.

She approached him, and he decided that she didn't walk... she _stalked_. He felt like he shouldn't move, or it would cause her to pounce. He kept one hand pressed against his wound, staunching the bleeding. She came within an arm's length, and slowly circled him. "Um... thanks for the help," he nearly stammered.

"Street trash," she replied. "Sometimes those with power need to be reminded that power can be an illusion." As she walked back in front of him, her fingertips lightly stroked his neck, brushing up toward his lips. "Besides, I'm hardly uncultured. I couldn't let her destroy a work of art."

Her hand traced down his chest, and she leaned in, almost intimately close. She was probably doing it to put him off balance – unfortunately, she was doing it pretty damned well. He felt like steak in front of a rancor, and wondered briefly if he would have been better off with Gina Laven's thugs. Was she _sniffing_ him? He smelled of sweat and blood... not exactly his best cologne.

"You know," she said, her words coming as soft puffs against his neck, "I would have thought the Republic would train their soldiers a bit better about laying low in enemy territory."

He barely suppressed a flinch, instead feigning ignorance. "I don't understand."

She pulled back, looking up at him. She smiled slightly, an expression that didn't reach her eyes. "Exactly what I mean."

She turned and walked a few steps away, then paused to address him over her shoulder. "There's a medical centre at the end of the district, run by Zelka Forn. He'll treat you well. And... he might have something you're looking for." Leaving him with that mysterious statement, she strutted away, soon disappearing behind a building.

Carth released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Weird planet." Then, lacking a better idea, he headed down the block to find the medical centre she'd mentioned.


	3. Chapter 3: Allies

Though he'd be wary about being sent into a trap, the woman in black appeared to have been telling the truth. There was indeed a medical centre nearby, run by a kind, aged doctor named Forn. Though Carth didn't like the way Forn's assistant looked at him, the doctor himself treated his wounds with apt skill, even repairing some damage suffered in his crash landing the night before. He nodded with understanding when Carth explained being run roughshod by a pair of hired thugs, apparently having heard such stories many times before.

"Doctor?"

Forn was putting away some equipment. "Yes?"

"The woman who referred me here... she said you might have something I'm looking for. Do you know what she meant by that?"

Forn looked up at him, and his dark skin paled slightly. "She said that?"

"Yes."

"She was referring to my medical care, obviously." Carth looked at him, disbelieving, and the doctor sighed quietly.

Turning, the man went to a counter, quickly arranging a set of medkits and other medical supplies into a kit. "Gurney, would you take this to Ajuur? Remind him that he still hasn't paid me for the last kit, if you could."

The suspicious-looking assistant came over to take the kit bag. "I have to talk to a Hutt about credits?" Forn gave him a hard look. Gurney's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Yes, doctor." Shooting Carth another glance, he turned and walked out of the medical centre.

Once the greasy-seeming man was gone, Forn turned to the pilot. "How did you get those contusions on your back?"

Carth blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. If you want honest answers, you'll have to give honest answers. Those injuries were at least half a day old, not less than an hour. How did you get hurt?"

Carth paused. He knew he was being tested, but trust was definitely _not_ something he gave out. But he needed answers. Finally, he decided to put some faith in the doctor's oath. "I got them when I came down in my escape pod from a Republic cruiser which was destroyed in orbit last night."

Forn nodded, unsurprised. "That's what I thought. Come this way."

Curious, Carth followed, his hands near his blasters, as Forn led him toward the back of the centre. Tapping a code into a lock, the rear wall slid open to reveal an array of kolto tanks.

Carth looked, his heart sinking as he realized each tank was occupied with a man or woman wearing standard-issue Republic underclothes.

"People have been bringing them in since last night," Forn explained softly. "Some from the Upper City, sometimes one of the Beks will bring someone they found in the Lower City." He looked at Carth. "There's nothing I can do for them other than keep them free from pain."

"Thank you," Carth replied, really meaning it. "It's good to know that at least some of these men ended up in compassionate hands."

He stepped in, moving around the room to see the faces of those waiting to die, recognizing them all. Shaking his head sadly, he turned to the doctor. "Have you seen a woman – about this tall – brunette, blue eyes, pretty, wearing peach robes? She – uh – probably would have been carrying a lightsaber."

Forn's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "A Jedi? No. No women matching that amongst those that have been brought to me. She would have come down with another pod?" Carth nodded. "Then, if she survived, she's probably either been captured, or is in hiding. If she's a Jedi, I can understand why."

He pursed his lips. "Most of the pods smashed through to the Undercity, from the looks of it. The swoop gangs swarmed them as soon as they could. If your friend is still alive, then your best chance of finding her is by asking them. _If_ you find some that won't kill you on sight."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"Yes. Most of these people were brought here by the Hidden Beks. They're one of the gangs in the Lower City, and in general the least objectionable." Forn's lip curled as he realized just what faint praise that was. "Their leader, Gadon Thek, is a good man. But he's got his own problems... with the Sith, and the gang war that's been going on down there lately. With the Vulkars. Be careful of them... they're brutes."

Carth began to feel a surge of hope. "These Beks might have an idea where I can find my friend?"

Forn shrugged. "They might, they might not. But they're probably the only ones you'd be able to ask and walk away."

"Wonderful. So how do I get down to the Lower City to talk to them?"

Forn considered, thinking for a moment. "There's a sentient in the big residential building south of here. He does some work for the Beks. I know he speaks with them on a regular basis, but I'm not sure how he gets down there. You might try asking him."

Carth pulled out his personal datapad, which he'd loaded with a map of the city courtesy of a passing protocol droid. Forn quickly pulled up the location on the map, and the pilot was pleased to see that the building in question was nearby, only a few minutes distance away in the district south. With sincere thanks, Carth took his leave of the medical centre, heading to the next person in his quest to find Bastila.

Taris was deceptively large; though the streets were laid out in a simple pattern, Carth learned that the district immediately south of the one he was in was nearly five kilometres away. Not wanting to waste time, he spent some of his dwindling supply of credits to hire a speeder-taxi, who carried him in just minutes to his destination. The droid at the helm even recognized which building he sought, and dropped him off immediately in front. They were credits well-spent, as far as he was concerned.

He entered the building – a near-clone to the one he stayed in, though far better maintained – and searched around the corridor for the apartment he needed. As he walked around the circular path, he noticed a Sith trooper standing in front of an apartment. With a sinking feeling, Carth confirmed that the apartment in question was exactly the one Forn had directed him to.

Fortunately, it did not appear to be a trap. The trooper barely looked at him, and when he approached, the Sith gestured with his blaster rifle. "Keep moving."

Inside, Carth could hear a male human shouting, and an Aqualish desperately proclaiming innocence. He feigned curiosity. "What's going on in there?"

"Nothing that concerns you. Keep moving!"

The Sith commander inside the room was rapidly losing patience. "I'm getting sick of your lies, alien scum! We have video evidence of you stealing those uniforms! Now produce them, or I splatter your brains all over the wall!"

The trooper seemed amused, distracted by the argument. "Uh oh. Now this might get messy."

"Maybe he really doesn't know anything?" Carth offered.

"You're too curious for your own good, civilian." The trooper said, his hands tensing around his rifle. "This is your last chance... move along!"

"I won't let you hurt an innocent sentient," he replied.

"You won't _let_ us? Did I hear that right?" The Sith commander had heard Carth's comment, and turned to face him.

Carth looked at the two Sith, backing up a step and licking his lips nervously. "Um..." His hands dipped down to his hips, and when they rose again, he held a blaster in each hand. The fear in his face was completely gone. "Actually, yeah."

He pulled the triggers, and the faceplate of the trooper's helmet shattered under the bolts, the Sith's body falling backward like a cut tree. He swivelled to target the commander, but the man had already raised his rifle. Carth dived behind the door just as a burst of red plasma seared through the air where he had just stood.

He was about to try to storm the apartment when he heard a human cry, and he peeked around the side of the door to see the Sith crumpling to the ground, a vibroblade stuck in his back. The Aqualish stood panting over the body.

The two sets of eyes blinked at the soldier. "Thank you, human. Your interference undoubtedly saved me. I trust you are no friend to the Sith?"

"You could say that," Carth replied, holstering his blasters. "Were they right? Are you helping the resistance in the Lower City?"

The alien tensed, but made a gesture affirming. "Yes; I assist a man named Gadon Thek, who is the leader of the Hidden Beks. I collect enemy uniforms for him, and he plans on using them as part of his guerilla warfare strategy. He openly opposes the presence of the Sith on Taris, and they are hunting him as a result."

"I need to get in touch with Gadon. Do you know of any way past the Sith guards watching the lifts down?"

"I'm afraid I only know of the lifts, though there are rumours of stairways and other means of access. Gadon regularly sends a courier to pick up the uniforms from me."

Carth's shoulders slumped, but the alien smuggler seemed to think for a moment. "However, why could Gadon's ploy not work for you?" He gave the body of the dead commander a kick. "Between these two, you have a full, unstained uniform. It should be sufficient for you to walk past the guard on the upper levels."

The two of them stripped the two Sith of their uniforms, and Carth was soon dressed up in the shining chrome armour of the Sith. It made his skin crawl, but the Aqualish looked at him and nodded his head. "Very believable. The guards in the Upper City are complacent, and bored. You should have little difficulty getting past them. However, I would not expect this to be enough to get you into the Undercity."

Carth looked at the two dead bodies. "Do you need help getting rid of these two?"

The alien shook his head. "No, I will leave them here. This meeting spot is compromised... I will inform my contact as such. I suggest you not linger here. Good luck, human."

The two of them parted ways, and Carth found himself walking along the streets in full Sith regalia. He kept his weapon visible, and tried to emulate the attitude most of the Sith he'd seen sported.

_Picked on a lot as a kid... mommy didn't hug me enough... really bad case of diarrhoea..._

The Aqualish had pointed him toward the nearest elevator to the Lower City, which was located conveniently close... undoubtedly the reason they'd chosen that particular building as their rendezvous point. Soon enough – the armour was getting hot, and itchy – the soldier found himself coming up on the doors to a lift on a corner of the street. Few civilians wandered around this section of the district, so the Sith trooper standing guard at the lift was plainly visible.

Carth found himself almost _hoping_ the trooper would be suspicious; he much preferred dealing with Sith through his blasters than using a disguise. Still, there was no way to know what other defences there were, or how fast the Sith could call in reinforcements. So, the pilot kept walking, letting his contempt show somewhat in his walk.

It appeared to work; the Sith nodded as he approached. "Going down to the Lower City, eh? Watch out for those swoop gangs. They're vicious today. Something's gotten them all riled up."

"I can handle a few gang members," Carth sneered.

"Good to hear," the trooper replied snidely. "Me, I'm looking forward to when the governor's had enough and just sends all down to wipe them out. I could use a good massacre to raise my spirits."

Carth nodded, though he really wished he could ask why so many Sith had to act like bad holovid villains. He was spared from faking further enthusiasm by the arrival of the lift. He stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors shut in front of him.

He wasted no time ditching the armour, although he had nothing to replace it; somehow he suspected the chrome armour would do more to attract blaster fire than deflect it. Packing it away, he decided to hide it inside a maintenance compartment within the elevator, in case he needed it again to come topside.

When the doors opened upon the Lower City, the contrast could not have been more apparent. While the Upper City was well-maintained, by sentients as well as droids, the Lower looked neglected and broken-down. The flooring was constructed with the same non-skid durasteel sheeting common on many stations and starships, the struts and girders of the ceilings and walls were far from the gleaming metals and ceramics of the Upper City. Dirt and scraps of metal lined the walls, and the piping and conduits which fed the city-planet were plainly visible behind grating on all sides.

He stepped from the elevator, looking around. The wide corridor, which served as a kind of street, stretched to either side of him; far to his right, he could see the wreckage of a crashed swoop bike, completely abandoned, and then the avenue stretched far beyond. To his left, the corridor curved away, but seemed clear. Deciding that the holes in the swoop bike didn't all look accidental, Carth opted to head to his left.

And blundered right into a gang war. A dozen sentients of various species confronted each other in the middle of the corridor, shouting. Over half of them wore dark red, almost black armour, and these sentients seemed to be allied. The others wore various colours, but were no less vigorous in their arguing.

"The Black Vulkars are best!" yelled a dark-clad Weequay dramatically. "It's only a matter of time before the Beks are crushed!"

"You're insane!" responded a Rodian. "Brejik is walking right into the Sith's hands. He-" The Rodian didn't get a chance to finish, as the Weequay jumped forward, a dagger flashing in his hands. The blade buried itself into the unfortunate Rodian's gut, and the alien crumbled to the ground.

Then the fight was on; all of the survivors pulled blades, and rushed at each other, shouting imprecations.

Stuck behind the melee, Carth slipped back, not wanting to take sides in a gang war. His diplomacy went unappreciated; a human Vulkar broke through the ranks of the others and, spotting him, came roaring at the pilot. His blasters snapped into his hands, and he quickly fired bolts into the Vulkar's chest armour, knocking him back.

The sudden appearance of blasters into what had been a blade-battle caused the warring gang members to pause. Then a pair of Vulkars broke free to try to rush him; one was cut down from behind by a quick-reacting Bek, but Carth was forced to deal with the other himself, firing a pair of bolts into the oncoming Rodian's thigh, trying to find the spot where the Vulkar's armour was thinnest.

The first Vulkar had recovered his breath, and came at him again. Carth dodged the stun-stick the human wielded recklessly, and fired both blasters point-blank into his chest. The damaged armour was unable to withstand the assault, and the man collapsed to the ground.

Then Rodian was on him again, swinging his vibrosword, and Carth was hard-pressed to dodge the big blade. He had no melee weapons of his own, and was unarmoured... any hit was likely to be deadly. Taking a queue from the black-clad woman from earlier, he stepped in as the Rodian swung again, dodging the blade and finding himself pressed up against the Vulkar. One blaster-holding hand trapped the blade, while his other hand pressed a muzzle to the Rodian's chin. A squeeze of the trigger, and the fight was over.

"Well, I'll be damned," Carth muttered.

Looking up, he saw that the fight was over, and the Beks had won, though barely. One human and one Rodian out of the six had survived, both badly injured.

The Rodian held a hand over a wound in his side, breathing painfully. "Thanks, human. I think without your help we would have been wiped out."

"No problem," Carth replied. He left out the fact that he hadn't planned on getting involved at all. "Are you with the Hidden Beks?"

"We are," the human responded.

"I'm looking to talk to Gadon Thek. I was told he'd know how to get me into the Undercity."

"The Undercity? Yeah, he might be able to help. Why?"

"I'm looking for a friend. I think she might be down there."

The Rodian and the human looked at each other. The human shrugged, and the Rodian turned back to him. "Sure. We'll bring you to our base, and you can talk to Gadon. Be careful what you say, though, and don't touch your weapons. Zaerdra won't like you."

Carth sighed and shrugged. "I'm getting that a lot today."

* * *

Gadon Thek was hardly the man Carth expected. Rather than the robust, rough-looking thug the pilot expected, he was introduced to an older man; noble, with an air of authority that would not have been out of place amongst the admirals he had met. He looked strong, but it was the kind of strong that grew out of hard work, not from fighting at every opportunity. And, most surprising of all, his eyes were the metallic grey of optical implants.

After the fight on the streets, the two surviving Beks had led him to their base, with the Rodian and Carth helping the human walk on his damaged leg. The Rodian had hurriedly explained his presence to the suspicious guard at the base, and she had allowed him in.

The Bek base was surprisingly large – a converted warehouse, Carth guessed. He was escorted toward the rear of the base by a healthy Bek summoned before the two injured Beks were led away for medical treatment. The new escort, a male human, didn't seem inclined to speak, merely nodding politely and leading him onward to meet Gadon. Carth looked around what he could see of the base with interest; there were surprisingly few swoop bikes in evidence for what was a "swoop" gang, but he didn't comment on that. He could see corridors leading off to other rooms, but didn't know what they held.

Gadon himself was behind a desk located in plain view at the rear part of the large main area. Beside him stood an armed female Twi'lek, who glared at Carth as if she expected him to pull his blasters and start shooting any moment. Her hands hung close to her weapons.

The Bek leader looked at Carth. "Well, what do we have here? We don't get visitors very often."

"Are we letting in strays now? And they didn't even confiscate his weapons? I'm going to have to have a word with those idiots at the front gate," commented the Twi'lek in accent-less Basic.

"Calm down, Zaerdra," the older man admonished. "Would you have us shooting strangers on sight? Like the Vulkars?"

"You're too trusting, Gadon," the Twi'lek warned. "Brejik is after you, and your safety is my concern, not the offended feelings of strangers."

"You'll have to forgive her," Gadon explained. "Tensions are high in the Lower City right now. The Sith are putting pressure on us, and a rival gang, the Vulkars, have been taking advantage of the fact that we're one of the few gangs trying to fight them. They've been hitting us where-ever and when-ever they can."

"I'm not with the Vulkars, nor the Sith. I'm here because I was told I could talk to you about getting into the Undercity to look for a friend."

"And who told you this?" Gadon asked, slowly.

"Zelka Forn. And an Aqualish topside, who said he had been dealing with you about Sith uniforms." He shrugged. "He didn't give his name, and I didn't ask for it. It seemed better for both of us."

Gadon nodded. "I thought so. He sent us a message, letting us know that he'd been rescued from a pair of Sith, and to expect you. I had to be sure."

Carth sighed with relief, pleased to finally have something going right. "That's excellent! Can you help me? It's vitally important that I find my friend. Especially if you want to help defeat the Sith."

The Bek leader held up a hand. He sank into the seat behind his desk with a sigh. "I suspect I already know what happened to your friend. You're looking for a Republic crew member from the ship destroyed in orbit, yes? Female, brunette, came down in one of those escape pods?"

His heart rose into his throat. "Yes... you know where she is?"

Gadon snorted. "Where she is, is in the hands of the Vulkars." He sat down with a sigh. "The Vulkars were on top of those pods practically before they hit the ground. Brejik's made it known among the swoop gangs that his men managed to capture a Republic woman."

Wincing, Carth asked, "What does he plan on doing with her?"

"That's the difficult part, and where our mutual problems coincide. Brejik has put her up as the prize in the annual swoop race."

Carth wasn't sure he heard right. He shot the Bek a quizzical look. "A... prize? In a _race_?"

He nodded. "Yes. Once a year, the swoop gangs come together to compete in a swoop race. The gang that wins gains a great deal of prestige. This year, Brejik hopes to be that gang. So he puts up this woman as the prize for the swoop racer who wins, hoping to attract the best of the racers."

"Those racers will get a surprise once they actually _get_ her. Why is this race so important?"

"As a said, the winning gang gets prestige. With this, comes greater numbers, and alliances with other gangs." Gadon shook his head. "Brejik has a great deal of resentment towards the Hidden Beks. If he get swell his numbers enough, he'll have what he needs to wipe us out. In contrast, if the _Beks_ win, the other gangs would rally around us, and I'd have the numbers needed to resist the Sith."

As he spoke, his fist clenched on top of the desk.

Carth shook his head. "This is nuts. So in order to rescue Bastila I need to enter a swoop race?"

"Not just anyone can enter the race. You need to be sponsored by a gang."

"Can't I mount a rescue of some sort?"

"I've already looked into that. If I could get her away from him, he'd lose a lot of the racers who've come to him just to try to win her. Unfortunately, he's kept her well-hidden. Away from his own men as well – otherwise they might have... despoiled her."

The pilot's jaw clenched, and his hands turned into tight fists. "Will you sponsor me into your race?"

Gadon raised a brow, surprised. He looked sad, then shook his head. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but swoop racing is risky and dangerous. And you're an unknown quantity. I can't let just anybody onto one of our bikes."

"But-" Carth stepped forward, desperate, but stopped as Zaerdra grabbed hold of one of her blasters, but didn't draw. "You have no idea how much depends on recovering her."

"Probably not," Gadon admitted. "But I need to be careful. A lot of people here depend on the outcome of that race."

Carth's shoulders slumped, and he tried to find some argument that would convince the cagey old man. Just as he was about to speak again, he was interrupted by a shouted voice from the base entrance. Zaerdra pulled her blaster, but kept it pointed down, watching for the source of the trouble.

"Help! Help! Gadon!" From the direction of the entrance came a young Twi'lek girl, no older than fifteen, blue-skinned and just blossoming into the grace and beauty her species was renowned for. She wore rugged-looking pants and a decent-quality armoured vest, and Carth was surprised to see an energy shield generator on her upper arm.

Gadon stood, concerned. "Mission? What's wrong?"

She came skidding to a stop, panting, and they could see that she'd been crying. "It's Zaalbar... We have to help him..."

"Mission, slow down and breathe. Then tell us what happened," Gadon said soothingly.

The girl paused, closing her eyes, gathering her breath for a moment. Then she stood fully, opening her eyes to look at Gadon pleasingly. "Me and Big Z... we were exploring, like we usually do, y'know? And we'd wandered into the Undercity sewers. We... we thought we could scout out that secret entrance the Vulkars have, y'know?"

"The Vulkars have a secret entrance?" This was apparently news to Zaerdra.

Gadon held out a hand to silence her. "Go on, Mission."

"We were looking around, when suddenly we were surrounded by Gamorreans! Big Z threw himself at them, yelling at me to run. I did, thinking he'd be right behind me... but..." The youngster began to cry again. "They're going to slave him out, I know it! You have to help me get him back!"

"How many of them were there?"

Mission paused, thinking. "Uh... about eight or ten, I think."

Gadon sat down, and steepled his hands over his mouth. He was silent for a long while, until he sighed and looked at Mission sadly. "I'm sorry, Mission. I barely have enough men to guard this base. I don't have enough to send into the Undercity and get injured or killed, especially with the race so close."

"But Zaalbar's helped you! Kohl's helped you!"

"I'm sorry, Mission," he repeated, "but my people are just spread too thin right now. Can't you get Kohl to help? She'd be far more effective than any men I could send along with you."

The young Twi'lek paled and looked down. "I was hoping Kohl wouldn't have to know."

Gadon watched the girl for a moment, then nodded. "Ah." A shrewd look passed over his face, and he looked toward Carth. "Maybe you could help her?"

Carth's mouth dropped. "I'm kind of caught up with my _own_ missing person right now..."

Gadon held up a hand. "Tell you what. You help Mission, and I'll let you race for us. It'll prove what kind of person you are, and whether you win or one of my racers win, you'll get back your shipmate. I don't hold to slavery. All I want is a win for the Beks."

The pilot paused, considering. "I'm willing to help. But if these guys overwhelmed a Wookiee, what help would I be?"

"We're gonna need Kohl," Mission said. She made the prospect sound terrible.

"Who's Kohl?" He frowned, wondering why she would be so hesitant to go to this person for help. "Is she your master?"

"No!" the teenager exploded, suddenly offended. "She's not like that! She's my guardian, sort-of."

"Kohl works for Davik," Gadon explained. "She's helped to keep Mission and Zaalbar out of his hands."

"And now Big Z is in a slaver's pen to save me," Mission moaned, about to burst into tears again. "She's gonna be _so_ mad."

"Yes, she will be," the Bek leader stated. "But she'll be far, far more angry if you don't do anything. You know how she feels about cowardice. And I know you're no coward."

Gadon's words seem to bolster the girl, and Carth was impressed. She squared her shoulders. "I'll do what I have to to save Big Z." Her confidence wavered a bit, and she looked at Carth. "You'll help?"

He tried to smile reassuringly at her. He recognized the tactic: hoping your parents wouldn't come down on you too hard in the presence of a stranger. Though from the way she and Gadon spoke of this Kohl, he wasn't sure his being around would matter much. "Of course. My name's Carth Onasi."

She smiled through her drying tears. "Mission Vao."


	4. Chapter 4: Rescue

However young Mission might be, she knew Taris' Lower City like the back of her hand. She lead him through the streets and corridors with ease, explaining why she chose each route, mostly to avoid encounters with the Vulkars or any of their allied gangs. Within about twenty minutes of walking, she brought them to a building which apparently contained a number of apartments, home to many aliens and the poorer of the Taris citizens.

Mission, he noted, also liked to talk. She kept up a non-stop explanation about everything in the Lower City, and soon Carth knew far more than he expected – or wanted – to know about the origins of the rivalry between the Beks and Vulkars. Although he had to admit that the "avaricious, betraying son" would probably make a decent drama holofilm.

"Kohl has a suite at Davik's estate," Mission explained. "But she never stays there unless she has to. Davik doesn't care as long as she comes when he calls." She led him to a door, which looked a great deal like the one to his own squat, if a bit more rusty.

She paused at the door. "Are you sure you're gonna help?" She looked up at him nervously.

"Mission, I despise slavery. If I can help, I will," he assured her.

She nodded. "Okay. But... Kohl can be scary sometimes. Just let me do the talking." She reached over to key in an access code to the apartment door, and the doors slid open.

She led him inside, and called out hesitantly as the doors shut behind them. "Kohl?"

"Yes, Mission?"

Carth had been expecting a Twi'lek. Someone like Zaerdra, who was certainly frightening in her own right. A shrill harpy, or a growling kinrath of a woman. Instead, the person who emerged from behind a curtain erected as a sort of wall in the one-room apartment was perfectly human, perfectly female, and perfectly identical to the frightening woman who had rescued him from Gina Lavin's thugs earlier in the day. She still wore the same clothing, though she'd shed her jacket, revealing pale, well-muscled arms that could have been carved from marble. Her hair was loose from its ponytail, hanging around her ears and collarbone.

The two humans stared at each other for a moment, surprised. Then her eyes flickered down to the young Twi'lek standing nervously in front of her. "Why is _he_ here? Are you bringing me presents?"

Carth's eyebrows went vertical, and Mission squinted, confused. "You know each other?"

Kohl's face showed faint amusement. "We've met." She took a step back, and looked at both of them with a penetrating gaze. "Now... why is he here?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, while Carth and Mission looked at each other.

"Don't make me ask again."

"I'm here to help," Carth said, at the same time Mission blurted, "Gamorreans took Zaalbar!"

She looked between the two of them. Kohl didn't frown; instead, her face went flat. Something dangerous glinted in her eyes. "Where? They've dared come up from the sewers?"

The Twi'lek girl turned a paler shade of blue. "Um... no. That's where we were," she whispered, looking at the floor.

The assassin closed her eyes and nodded. "Ah." She turned away with her hands on her hips, and was silent for a long moment. "Didn't I tell you _not_ to enter the Undercity?"

Carth shifted uncomfortably. That feeling was building again, like he was trapped in a room with a vicious animal, though Kohl's voice never changed its tone. He didn't know how Mission could handle it, being the subject of attention. The young Twi'lek swallowed nervously.

Suddenly, Kohl whipped around with preternatural speed, seizing Mission by the jaw and slamming her back against the wall of the room, causing the youngster to gasp. "_I asked you a question!_"

"Hey, don't-"

She halted him with an upraised finger and a seething look. "Your survival depends on me _not_ noticing you, Republic, so you stand fast and shut up!"

She turned back to Mission, snarling. "I've put myself between Davik and you. Debased myself, so that you don't end up sold to one of his associates as a joy-girl! And you _walk_ right into slavers' hands, and take Zaalbar with you? Is _that_ what you're telling me?"

Kohl shoved herself away from the girl, turning away. Tears flowed freely down Mission's face, and Carth felt deeply sorry for the youngster. "I'm sorry! I-I just wanted to show you that I was old enough to handle it, that you could-"

She never got a chance to finish, as Kohl spun, her open palm catching her on a blue-tinted cheek with a crack like a blaster shot. Mission cried out, bouncing off the wall and falling to the floor. Carth began to move, but stopped. He wasn't sure what he should do... or what he _could_ do. He knew instinctively that the warrior woman could take him apart with ease, but he couldn't stand by and let her beat Mission to a pulp.

Fortunately, Kohl merely stood above the girl, menacing, glaring down at her with harsh anger. "You're old enough when you clean up your own messes, when you stop depending on Zaalbar and me to protect you from your own stupidity. You're old enough when you stop trying to prove that you're old enough."

Mission propped herself up into a sitting position, sobbing, afraid to look up. "I _want_ to clean up my mess. I want to help Zaalbar! I'll do whatever you say... Please! I'll do anything I have to, I just want Zaalbar back!"

Kohl took a step back, and some of the anger melted away, to be replaced with... approval? Carth didn't get a chance to tell, as she spun away from them, striding to a large locker on the wall. "Get up," she commanded, and Mission scrambled to her feet, a bright purple spot marking her right cheek.

Opening the locker, she pulled out a blaster rifle, checking the charge. For a moment, Carth feared she was going to shoot them, but she flipped the weapon over and handed it stock-first to Mission.

That flat, emotionless stare was locked on the young Twi'lek. "Make sure your energy shield is charged."

Mission's tears of guilt and fright turned to tears of relief. "Yes... yes, thank you, Kohl, I'll help-" She reached out and took hold of the rifle.

The older woman tugged on the weapon, causing Mission to stumble forward. She leaned down and hissed in the teenager's face. "_Don't_ thank me. Do you think I'm giving you this for show? That those slavers are going to give up a prize Wookiee just because I tell them to? We're going to _kill them_, Mission. _And you're going to help_." Kohl shoved her away, and Mission scrambled back a step, looking down at the rifle she held as its significance finally sunk in. "You can be an adult," the assassin said, "or you can be innocent. Not both."

Kohl turned away to prepare herself, strapping on a back scabbard with a pair of vibroblades, and a belt stocked with a number of knives, and a pair of small blasters. "You coming along, Republic?" she asked, slipping on a pair of black synthetic gloves, then tying back her hair with a piece of cord fetched from her pocket.

He glared at her back. "Mission said you could use another blaster."

"Fine." She turned to face him, geared for war. She tossed him an energy shield, and he nearly dropped it while catching it. "Don't expect payment."

"I won't," he sneered. "I'm a soldier, not a mercenary."

His implicit comparison drew no reaction from her at all.

* * *

Kohl walked at a quick pace, and Carth and Mission needed to scramble to keep up with her. Mission understandably hung back from the woman, and Carth walked beside the teenager. She played with the settings on her rifle, gripping the stock and the barrel.

He leaned slightly toward her. "Have you ever fired one of those before?" he asked quietly.

Since being handed the weapon she'd appeared to be in a sort of daze; now, she looked up at Carth, slightly offended. "Yes! I'm not a k-" She halted in mid-word, realizing what she'd been about to say. Ahead, Kohl's head had turned slightly. Mission swallowed and ducked her head. "Yes," she replied in a lower tone. "Kohl made me learn at the shooting range on Davik's estate. Those were pistols though."

Carth nodded. "You'll be okay. Although..." He reached over, and folded down the front grip of the rifle, where she could grasp instead of the barrel, which would have heated up and burned her hand. If anything, the youngster blushed a deeper blue.

"The rifle has a powerful emitter. It'll hit farther and harder, but it'll kick more than the pistols you're used to." He spoke to her like an old hand. He was bothered by old memories, remembering taking Dustil behind the house to teach him to shoot, much to Morgana's annoyance. He looked down at the teenager, who happened to be the same age as Dustil when he'd lost him. "You can hang back, give us covering fire," he told her softly.

"No," she replied. She gripped her weapon more tightly. "I got Big Z into this mess, I'll help get him out."

Ahead, Kohl said nothing, although Carth had no doubt she'd heard every word.

They came to the end of the wide corridor, where they found a large cargo elevator, the primary access to the Undercity. Unfortunately, being the primary access, it was guarded by a Sith trooper.

Carth tensed, his hand nearing his blaster; he swallowed nervously as he saw that the trooper wasn't alone. A quartet of auto-turrets had been placed around the elevator. The droid intelligence embedded into the turrets caused them to swivel and target the group, their blaster barrels aligning menacingly.

"Halt! Access to the Undercity has been restricted by the governor," warned the Sith. He left his weapon hanging at his side, evidentially considering the turrets to be firepower enough. "You'll need proper authorization papers to be permitted access."

"Tracker team," Kohl replied. She dipped into a pouch on her belt, producing a folded sheaf of papers and handing them to the guard.

The Sith took the papers, making note of the authentication seal. He looked at her, and at Carth, lingering on the soldier for an uncomfortable second. Finally, he jerked his head toward Mission.

"What is this, a school trip?"

"She's my apprentice," Kohl replied flatly.

"A bit young for hunting amongst rakghouls, isn't she?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "_She_ doesn't think so." Behind her, Mission shuffled her feet.

The guard looked back and forth between them, and again at Carth, who forced himself not to react. After a moment, he handed the papers back to Kohl. "Fine. Whatever. Enjoy your little family trip."

The guard waved them past, and the four droid turrets turned to aim back down the corridor. The three walked into the elevator, and Kohl stabbed the down button. The big metal doors closed, and the elevator began its long descent to the Undercity.

Carth looked at Kohl suspiciously. "You have valid Sith papers?"

She glanced back at him, completely ignoring his vague accusation. "The Sith I took them from didn't need them anymore."

He was about to ask her how likely it was that one woman could "take" papers from a five-man standard armoured Sith patrol when Mission punched him lightly in the side. He looked at her, and she shook her head, seemingly reading his thoughts.

His question was forgotten a minute later, when the doors to the elevator opened and he was hit with his first taste of Undercity air. It was rancid, smelling of dust, rot, sweat, and rust. It was astonishingly dark, and the air itself seemed heavier and oppressive.

Kohl led them out of the elevator, walking confidently through the darkness. After a few moments Carth eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he found himself looking out onto what appeared to be a village. Primitive tents were set up, using wreckage as structure and old, rotting fabric as covering. Dark shapes moved around the village, and Carth realized that they were being watched, as the glitter of eyes could be seen nervously ducking behind the tents and other wreckage as they passed.

"What in the galaxy is this?"

"Taris does two things with criminals," Mission replied softly. Her eyes moved over the nervous refugees with sympathy. "Either executes 'em outright, or banishes 'em down here. Once you're here, you aren't allowed back up... ever. There are families who have been down here for generations."

"What kind of crimes deserve this?"

"It doesn't take much," she admitted. "The nobles would stuff their own mothers down here if they thought they could get away with it."

He shook his head, appalled.

The three came to what appeared to be the outskirts of the village, tall walls built from scrap metal, looking far sturdier than most of the construction of the place. Briefly, Carth wondered what kind of creatures roamed beyond those walls, for the outcasts to place so much effort into building the walls over the construction of their homes. Set into the north side of the wall was a gate, operated by lever, watched over by a bearded man dressed in rags. The man watched them approach uneasily, and Carth wondered if the reaction was for anyone he didn't recognize, or something special due to the group's leader.

"Let us out," the assassin commanded. The gatekeeper scrambled to obey, the big metal grating which served as a door tipping to the ground like a drawbridge.

As Kohl led them out into the wastes beyond the outcast village, Carth quickly noticed that if the village was purgatory, the Undercity wastes definitely qualified as hell. The dirt they walked on hadn't seen the sky in centuries, with low-light plants, fungus and moss clinging to life. Metal wreckage was strewn everywhere, adding texture to what was otherwise a flat landscape.

The assassin had drawn her blaster; she scanned in each direction as they walked, picking up the pace. Despite himself, he was impressed by how silently she could move; the gravel and metallic bits crunched beneath his feet, but she passed over the ground like a ghost. Some of what she knew had already been passed on to Mission who, while not as proficient as the older woman, was also very quiet. Carth felt let a drunk bantha next to the two females.

Mission had fallen back to walk beside him, and she kept her rifle at the ready. "Be careful... keep an eye out for rakghouls."

"What do they look like?"

"They're mutated humans. Really ugly, sorta greyish... with claws, and one eye. They claw, and bite. The disease is contagious, and it can mutate you into one of them... you don't want to see if happen, trust me. Mega-gross."

"There's no cure?"

"Only the one on your hip," Kohl stated coldly from ahead of them.

"And you explore down here for _fun_?" Carth demanded of the teenager.

Mission shrugged. "Rakghoul disease only affects humans. Big Z can deal with a pack of them pretty easy."

Her comments didn't ease him any, and he found himself watching the darkness, looking for these sinister monsters. Fortunately, they weren't accosted during the walk to the sewer entrance, a large piece of metal grating with a lever. Kohl pulled the lever, and with the groan of old, unmaintained motors, the piece of grating slid upward. Carth risked a glance from his guard position, seeing a ladder which extended downward into the sewers.

The three slid down the ladder, and Carth found himself in a complex of ductwork and pipes and grated floors. Water could be heard trickling, and the air was heavy and oppressively warm. The smell was horrible; he nearly choked, but since neither female was complaining, he fought down the reaction, trying to breathe slowly though clenched teeth.

The sewers were equipped with lighting, so it was slightly easier to see, not that there was much more to look at. The tunnels seemed to stretch in all directions.

Kohl turned to Mission. "Can you find your way back?"

The teenager nodded, and stepped forward to lead them.

"Draw your blasters," Kohl commanded. "There are rakghouls down here as well... and perhaps Vulkars, and the Gamorreans. If you see something smaller than a Wookiee moving, kill it."

They advanced through the tunnels with more care than in the Undercity, since there was plenty of corners for enemies to hide behind. Carth took up rear guard, watching carefully.

It was as they passed through a cross-tunnel that he saw them; down the shaft, a series of grey-headed beasts, devoid of hair, with skin that seemed slick with some kind of grease. A single gleaming eye glared at him from each head, and he heard what sounded like heavy breathing, like a tired ronto.

"What in the galaxy-"

When he muttered, it was like a spell was broken over the creatures. One made a low, gurgling roar, and then bounded forward on all fours, claws clattering on the grating. Suddenly Carth was glad he was holding his blasters; he raised them and fired without hesitation into the group of creatures. Plasma seared into pallid flesh, and the creatures howled with rage and pain.

He kept up the fire, and the beasts plowed forward into the onslaught with little heed to their own safety. Kohl stepped up beside him, her own blasters adding to his own.

The last of the creatures fell just as it swung a claw at him. The soldier danced back, and the claw scraped into the metal where he had been standing just as Kohl fired a shot which cored completely through its head. The mutant collapsed onto the floor, and though its brain had been reduced to steam and ash, the body still quivered on the floor for long seconds after its death.

Carth felt the bile rise in his throat as he saw that the creature still wore clothing – scraps of cloth that he recognized as matching the rags worn by the Undercity villagers.

Kohl looked at the body with impassive interest. "That is a rakghoul." She looked at him. "Killing them is a mercy. Now you know why."

She turned to Mission and scowled at the teenager, who had stood back, clutching the blaster rifle she held. "Did I give you that weapon as a decoration?" she berated. "Make yourself useful next time."

Mission blushed, ashamed, but didn't try to argue.

Their progress from that point on was easier. Within a few more minutes walk, Mission announced that they'd reached the point where she and Zaalbar had been attacked. Kohl took point again; advancing further into the tunnels, they came across an old door, one of the few they'd passed in the sewers, and more unusual due to the glowing lock indicator.

The older woman leaned against the door, listening. Carth waited patiently, while Mission looked on with hopeful eyes.

"I hear them," she said. "I can't make out the words." She glanced at them. "Activate your shields. This is it." They obeyed, and a blue glow surrounded their bodies, adding slightly to the dim light in the tunnel.

"This is an old lock," Mission said. "I don't know if I can pick it with the tools I have."

"Don't bother," replied Kohl, drawing a simple knife from a sheath on her belt. "There's an easier way to open a locked door." Calmly, she raised the knife, and with the metal pommel... she knocked.

Carth was certain she was out of her mind.

Just as he was about to say so, the large durasteel doors slid apart vertically. Standing on the other side was a big, round Gamorrean, wearing ruddy fibre armour and carrying the large battle axe favoured by the brutish species.

The Gamorrean's piggish eyes opened wide as he realized who stood in front of him.

"Hi," Kohl began conversationally. "Let's talk." Her hand shot up, sinking her knife deep into the thick neck of the slaver. She gave a twist and yanked it out, letting a spray of blood emerge. The Gamorrean dropped with a thud, convulsing.

The others in the room squealed with panic and scrambled for their weapons. The assassin jumped over their fallen comrade, her knife already whistling through the air to embed itself into the temple of a Gamorrean just starting to rise. With the singing of metal, her vibroblades were in her hands, calling for blood.

Carth slipped in behind her, his blasters raised. Picking a target, he squeezed off a number of shots in rapid succession, the red bolts splattering on the rusted metal around the head of a slaver who'd been looking to join the fray around Kohl. The big alien snorted and ducked, using his big axe for what little cover it provided. Beside him, Mission opened fire with her blaster rifle. She was barely big enough to handle the kick of the plasma emitter, and her first shots went wide, but as she set herself and took hold of the front grip the way Carth had showed her her accuracy improved.

Carth lowered his sights, and fired a cluster of bolts into his target's knees... the Gamorrean screeched in pain and collapsed, dropping his axe. The pilot ended his pain a moment later with a shot straight between the green creature's horns.

Kohl flashed in and out of sight among the slavers trying to surround her, her blades spinning in her hands as if they were extensions of her body. Ducking under a horizontal swing, she hamstrung her attacker, causing him to collapse backwards. Another tried to split her in two with a powerful overhead blow; the axe whistled past her, bouncing off the steel floor, even as she spun and drove her left blade up into the Gamorrean's armpit.

Mission had managed to pin down one of the slavers behind a table, which the Gamorrean – showing unusual intelligence – had overturned to serve as a shield. Carth didn't think he was worth worrying about, until he saw a grenade arc up and over the table at them.

"Mission, down!" He dove at her, knocking her aside in a flying tackle that carried them beside the door. The energy shield she wore stung him, but he managed to get her out of the way of the incoming grenade. The lethal ball hit the ground and rolled just past the entrance to explode, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. Thankfully the door shielded them from the deadly metal.

The explosion seemed to shake the entire level; the concussion hit them just as they hit the floor, knocking the breath of Carth's lungs and turning the world upside down. He managed to roll sideways enough to not land on top of the teenager, but they both hit the ground heavily, and Mission groaned with dizziness.

Carth heard grunting, and opened his eyes to see no less than four Gamorreans standing over him, all with an axe raised. He raised his blasters and fired at the centre of the grouping, hearing a squeal of pain. Then the deck plating he lay upon shook as the big alien fell to the ground. He sat up, shaking his head and blinking until he merely saw two of everything.

One Gamorrean was ugly enough, he decided.

Beside him, Mission groaned. "You okay?" he asked.

"Someone tell that Hutt to stop singing," she muttered. He chuckled as she sat up, rubbing her head. "Are we done?"

He looked up to see the last slaver sliding off the end of Kohl's vibroblade, with some assistance from her foot. The bodies of the others were arrayed around her, blood starting to pool around her boots. The assassin turned, surveying the destruction, and apparently not liking what she saw, stabbed one of the bodies in the chest. The alien jerked, then collapsed again with a wheeze, no longer merely playing possum. Kohl yanked out her blade, satisfied.

Carth's mouth went dry. "Apparently." _Why do I feel like I would have been more useful holding her coat?_

Wiping and sheathing her blades, Kohl walked towards them. She nodded at the large door which made up the wall on one side of the room. "Is that where they put him?"

"I think so," Mission replied, jumping to her feet, dashing to the door with a new sense of urgency. She banged on the door with the butt of her rifle. "Big Z! You in there?" A muffled roar and a decidedly stronger pounding echoed back. "We'll have the door open in a sec, just hang on a minute!" Blue fingers fiddled with the door controls.

"Can you open it? Or will we have to blast the door open?" Kohl asked.

"It's an old-style magnetic lock. I could cut the power to unlock it, but then the doors won't move." Mission looked around, frowning. "There should be a key. It might be on one of the slavers."

Kohl nodded. She looked at the pilot. "Onasi, check that locker for the key."

He shot her a quizzical look, but obeyed, holstering his blasters and walking over to the footlocker by the door. Popping it open, he found only a few grenades and a medkit, which he pocketed.

The two females had gone to rifle through the pockets of the dead Gamorreans. Kohl searched with cold efficiency, but Mission screwed up her face with distaste. She couldn't keep a grin off her face as she came up with a handful of credits, though.

As the Twi'lek lifted the vest of one of the largest of the slavers, the alien suddenly moved, a giant hand reaching up to seize her throat, cutting off her shriek of surprise. Carth jumped up, his blasters ready, but Mission was in the way.

There was the high-pitched notes of blaster fire, and the Gamorrean collapsed back onto the ground, his chest full of holes from Mission's rifle. From point-blank range, there had been no way she could have missed. She held her throat, choking at air, looking at the corpse with giant eyes.

Blinking, she looked up at Kohl, who had her blades out, but hadn't immediately intervened. Carth saw the lack of surprise on the assassin's face, and realized that she'd known the Gamorrean had been faking the entire time. That she'd engineered the situation to force Mission to react.

Kohl nodded at the youngster.

No longer innocent.

* * *

To say that Zaalbar was pleased to be released from captivity would be an understatement. As soon as Mission opened the lock, the Wookiee had exploded out and swept her up into a hug, causing the teenager to drop her rifle and disappear, laughing, into a mass of fur.

After that he put her down, and nearly prostrated himself in front of Kohl. He clearly expected a violent reaction from her, either physically or verbally, and was surprised when it didn't happen. She just locked him with that laser-like stare, arms crossed, radiating dangerous disapproval.

Then she spun on her heel and walked away.

The Wookiee and Twi'lek looked at each other, clearly surprised. Mission stepped forward hesitantly. "Uh... Kohl? Are we going back up-city?"

"If you want to." The woman didn't bother to turn around to answer, bending down to retrieve her knife from the dead Gamorrean it was still embedded in.

The Twi'lek frowned, confused by the answer. "I... kinda promised Carth that I'd take him back to the Beks. He needs their help and-"

"You do whatever you want, Mission." Kohl twisted her head to look at her. "You're an adult, you don't need my approval." Sheathing her knife, she turned and walked out of the room without a glance backward.

Mission watched her go, looking nearly broken. Carth felt sorry for the poor girl, and a deep stab of animosity for the woman who had abandoned her. Zaalbar growled in sympathy, laying a huge furry paw on her shoulder.

Drawing her arm across her face, she roughly wiped away the tears which had begun to roll down her face. Shrugging off Zaalbar's paw, she picked up her blaster rifle from the floor, shouldering the strap. "Come on, we should get to the Beks before all their swoops are spoken for." She turned and walked resolutely to the door, unconsciously imitating Kohl as she did so.

Carth and Zaalbar watched her go, then looked at each other, Carth nearly straining his neck to look up at the big creature. The Wookiee warbled something forlorn.

"I have no idea what you just said, but I think I probably agree anyway." Shaking his head, he moved to follow.


	5. Chapter 5: Deals and Dealers

Panting, Davik leaned back onto his silken pillows with a pleased sigh. His back hurt; his legs hurt. He probably had scratches along his back. But it was all covered over with an intense pleasure, and feeling of accomplishment.

She was rough with him, like she always was. He didn't think she knew how to be gentle, and he probably wouldn't be interested in her if she was. She hated him, and that hate transformed into a feral, desperate kind of sex, like sharing a bed with an animal. He loved the feel of her on top of him, the feel and sight of those Amazonian muscles straining, the inherent danger as her hands found his throat. She could kill him in an instant, snapping his neck like a twig; certainly she'd done it enough to others at his command. But if she did, she'd doom herself.

The nearness of death, her hate, and the knowledge that he'd managed to trap and cage such a creature was an aphrodisiac like nothing else he'd experienced in the galaxy.

Beside him, Kohl had already rolled off the bed and was redressing. All business, his girl. No attempt at insipid pillow-talk, like some of the joy-girls he'd had. They never lasted long. They broke too easily. Not Kohl.

He'd had more than a few powerful business associates offer to buy her, but he always refused. What was the point of having something special, unique, if he shared it? Nor was he especially suicidal. He doubted any other master would restrain themselves from making use of her other talents. More than a few business rivals had had a chance to experience _those_ gifts, and Davik's empire had grown by leaps and bounds as a result.

He shifted, grunting as his back popped.

"I've been hearing rumours from the swoop gangs," Kohl commented, facing away from him.

Davik admired the shape of her back as she tied her boots back on. "What kind of rumours?"

"You know that the gangs beat us to those Republic escape pods. Apparently Brejik's stooges got lucky, and managed to catch a Republic officer while she was still incapacitated."

He frowned. "An officer?"

She pulled her shirt over her head, ruining his view, but he was thinking of other things. "Apparently. I'm guessing she's the one that the Sith have been stomping all over the planet trying to find."

"Hmm." The Sith and their damned blockade had been hurting his businesses, even the quasi-legitimate ones. It was an unacceptable situation, but even an Exchange boss couldn't take on a Sith fleet. "Are you proposing we tip the Sith off about this?"

Kohl shook her head, turning to stand and face him. She took a military stance as she did so, and Davik wondered again about who and what she'd been before she'd come into his possession. A soldier, certainly. Sith, maybe, although she was far more artful in her killing than he figured any of those rampaging cretins were capable. Genoharadan was his guess.

It didn't matter. She was his, now.

"Brejik has her hidden away," she explained, "as much from the fools in his own gang as from the other gangs and the Sith. He'll only reveal her at the swoop race, where he's offered her as a prize. He has no concept of her value."

"So what are you proposing?"

"That we take her during the swoop race. We can use her to strike a deal with the Sith. At best, we can win some form of reward from them, even if it's only gratitude. At worst, they get what they want and leave. So long as we don't oppose them, they have no reason to strike at us."

Davik considered, rubbing his hand across his balding pate. "Yes, but then we're left with hundreds of angry swoop gang members. You know how seriously they take that race, and trying to take the prize would unite them against us. That's a bit too much trouble, especially right now."

Propping himself up in the bed, he continued to think, and Kohl stood expectantly. Finally, he crossed his arms and looked at her. "I want you to enter the race. The Beks will sponsor you... they owe me, and they won't care about us taking the woman, they just want the win. You _can_ win this race, yes?"

Kohl's lips twisted in distaste. "Of course. But why me?"

Davik nearly laughed at her expression. "Canderous is too big, and Calo hates the swoop gangs. He'd never cooperate enough to see this through."

"You know Brejik. He'll be expecting his own riders to win, and won't accept any other outcome."

"Yes, he's been getting a bit out of control lately. Which is why I want you to win the race fair and square... he'll try to withhold the prize, and the other gangs won't take kindly to that."

"And then?"

He smiled indulgently at her. "And then, my dear, I want you to kill Brejik, and any swoop gang member that gets between you and the Republic woman."

She nodded, then turned to leave. "Kohl." She paused, turning partway back to him. "You've forgotten something." He held up a small vial, retrieved from the drawer in the night table beside him. A tiny amount of purplish fluid was inside.

The looked at the vial, and for a split second her rage was visible on her face, before she schooled her expression back into the disinterest she normally wore. She moved to take the vial, but he held it back, until she properly held her hand out, palm up. He placed the vial into her outstretched hand.

A subtle reminder: she could take nothing from him. There was what he gave her, and nothing else.

Slipping the vial into her pocket, she gave him a cursory bow and left. Davik leaned back, pleased, pondering how much longer he cared to stay in bed.

Storming down the hallways of Davik's estate, Kohl ignored the slaves and guards who scrambled out of her way. They avoided her as a matter of course, but the expression of near-fury on her face encouraged them to be extra-swift. All except for Canderous, who appeared from a side corridor and fell into step beside her.

He looked speculatively down at her, knowing better than to comment on her activities with Davik. "Did he suggest what you expected?" was all he asked.

She didn't break stride, nor look at him. But one side of her mouth moved upward into a grim, satisfied smirk. "Yes."

* * *

Carth was never going to enter the Undercity again the rest of his life, if he had any say about it. After meeting with Gadon, he'd been cordially offered a place to sleep and – as a not-so-subtle hint – wash up. It had taken two hours of scrubbing in the Beks' shower to get the stench off his body and out of his clothes.

In any event, he was clean again, and rested, after a good night's sleep. Now, the most dangerous thing he had to contend with for the day was boredom. The swoop race was the next day, and he would be participating, after Mission and Zaalbar had generously endorsed him to the Bek leader. He'd never raced a swoop before, so he was slightly nervous. He thought his considerable time in fighters would serve him well, but fighters had ejection seats and... well, a _seat_. Gadon had assured him that he would do fine, but somehow he didn't think Gadon would withdraw his other racers and bet only on Carth.

So now he was sitting in Javyar's cantina, getting a meal and trying not to think about the utter insanity of his current plan. Even if he won and rescued Bastila, he wasn't going to hear the end of it from the blasted Jedi. But, he'd sworn an oath to the Republic, and the Republic had ordered him to safeguard her. And if he needed to smear himself across a racetrack to rescue her, that's what he'd do.

Of course, that wasn't plan A'.

Anticipation was going to drive him crazy before tomorrow, he decided. He almost wished Mission and Zaalbar hadn't wandered off; both had met him that morning when he'd emerged from the Bek dormitory, considerably more energetic and far less smelly. The girl had seemed more cheerful than he had during their misadventure in the sewers. He hadn't asked if anything more had happened with Kohl, but Mission had volunteered that the woman had been called back to Davik's estate.

He was still unclear as to the assassin's relationship to the crime lord. He'd assumed that she was some of his hired muscle, but some of Mission's comments had implied there was something more intimate there. He couldn't imagine Davik _forcing_ Kohl into his bed, yet it had sounded like she despised the man.

He groaned, and took another bite of his nerf steak. He was looking forward to gossiping with a fourteen-year-old girl. He really, really, needed something to do.

It was the sudden drop in the noise level of Javyar's that made him look up. There at the entrance stood the woman he'd just been thinking about. She was dressed as she normally was, in what he'd dubbed her "business attire", with the addition of a black – of course – half-jacket. The dark colours of her clothing, and the dim light of the bar, made the flesh of her neck and face seem all the paler. Briefly, he wondered if she'd needed to scrub as hard as he had to get rid of the stink of the Undercity and the Gamorrean blood.

She moved through the crowd in the bar like a Firaxan shark in a school of fish. It was interesting to note the reactions of those around her; unlike Calo Nord, none of the gang members felt the need to test her. Certainly Kohl was _physically_ less intimidating than the bounty hunter, despite her lean, muscular figure. It was something mental – something in her eyes. Eyes like a jungle predator, which didn't _need_ to prove itself strongest, like a grandstanding Sith or a cocky bounty hunter – it simply was.

And those eyes were currently looking at him.

Carth hurriedly swallowed the bite he'd been chewing as the woman changed course and headed towards him. She came to a stop in front of his booth, and looked down at him.

"Onasi."

"Kohl."

She looked around, and then slid into the booth opposite him. Numerous eyes watched her do so, but she turned and glared, and those eyes suddenly found other things to look at. Regardless, she leaned in toward him, keeping her voice down. Around them, the constant music of the bar insured their privacy – for them, and the other suspicious conversations doubtlessly occurring around the bar.

"I have a proposal for you."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of proposal?"

"I'm going to win the swoop race for you."

Carth blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

Kohl pursed her lips in annoyance. "I'm going to win the swoop race. The Beks will sponsor me as one of their racers. I understand you've already approached them looking for the same thing?"

How did this woman get her information? "Yes, but-"

"Have you ever ridden a swoop before?"

"Um... no."

"Well, I have. And I'm very good at it. So I'm going to be racing in your place. I'll win, and I'll get your shipmate for you."

"Why?" Carth asked, incredulous. "Why would you even bother? What do you get out of it?"

"That's a very good question," she said. She leaned even closer, almost intimately close. It took a considerable amount of his self-control to not flinch away. "What I get," she said, "is a pilot."

He stared at her, confused. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"When you get your officer back, you're going to need a way off-planet, yes? As it happens, I have access to a ship: Davik's flagship, the _Ebon Hawk_. What I _don't_ have is access to a pilot."

"You'd need more than that," Carth pointed out. "The Sith have an orbital defence network set up. We'd need codes to get past that."

"Canderous has a line on those. You let him worry about that."

Carth leaned back, evaluating her. She stared right back with the same emotionless expression she normally wore, her wide, grey eyes barely blinking. What she was offering was almost too good to be true; and in his experience, such things usually were. "You're being awfully generous."

"I'm being practical," she shot back. "I get you your shipmate. Together, we get a ship, the codes, and then you fly us off this rock. You, your partner, me, Canderous, and Mission and Zaalbar."

"I'm guessing Kang isn't going to be very happy about this."

She grinned, a mirthless baring of teeth. "I certainly hope not."

"Why would you be going against him? I thought you had a sweet situation here."

"You thought wrong. And I'm not going to go into the reasons why." She paused, and Carth thought he saw the first cracks in the stone-cold face she presented to the world. "I want Mission off Taris. Something bad is going to happen. I'm not sure what, but I feel it, and I trust my instincts." She blinked, and the traces of vulnerability were wiped away. "She's my objective here, Onasi – her safety. Beyond me, beyond you, beyond your Republic friend."

Carth tilted his head, watching her, surprised – and, if he were to admit it to himself, impressed. Perhaps even ruthless murderers could have a heart. But she was still asking him to put the safety of himself and Bastila – and by extension, the Republic – into her hands.

She seemed to understand his hesitation. She tilted her head. "You're wondering if I can be trusted. You want the simple answer? I can't. I'll do whatever it takes to protect Mission. _Whatever it takes._ And right now, what it takes is getting her off-world, in a ship piloted by you. And to get you, I'm willing to help rescue your friend." She leaned back against her seat. "Don't waste your time trusting me. Trust in what I'm trying to do, and I'm willing to take you along."

Carth nodded. Somehow, the statement of her own ruthlessness was more reassuring than any promises or overtures she could have made. "And when we get off-world?"

Kohl blinked, like she hadn't really thought that far ahead. From what he had seen, Carth considered that unlikely. Still, her smirk was strangely rueful. "Then we split up on the first planet we make landfall on. Unless you try to keep the _Hawk_, we won't have a problem."

The two looked at each other over the table. Finally, Carth nodded. "If you help me get Bastila back, both she and I would be more than happy to help get Mission away."

Kohl nodded and stood. "So we have a deal, then?" She extended one hand.

Carth looked at the hand for a moment, then reached out and gripped it... knowing full well that he was making a deal with the devil, but hoping the cost wouldn't be his soul.

"We have a deal."

* * *

The first thing Kohl did as part of their new partnership was to order him back to his hideout.

"There's always violence after the swoop races," she explained. "Some gangs don't take losing lightly. They don't fight in the swoop bay, but the streets are no-man's land. And this year promises to be worse, with the Sith and Brejik's band of idiots causing trouble."

"So you want me to hide in my apartment? I was hoping to be a bit more useful."

Kohl glanced sideways at him as they walked to the elevator up to the Upper City. "There is nothing for you to do in the Lower City now, and I'd prefer to keep you out of harm's way."

"I _am_ a distinguished Republic soldier, you realize. I'm not useless in a fight."

"Am I insulting your man-feelings? Part of being a psychopath is that I have difficulty empathizing with others. I trust you'll tell me if I'm making you feel dis-empowered?"

Carth closed his mouth with a click, flushing a deep red. He had no idea how to respond to a comment like that... partly because he had no idea if she was joking or not. "Perhaps I just want to be there when you rescue Bastila."

"To make sure I don't double-cross you?" Kohl stepped into the elevator with Carth behind her.

"The thought had crossed my mind." She was brutally straightforward, he could return the favour.

"I hate to tell you, Republic, but if I turn on you, your presence there won't make a lick of difference."

The elevator opened again onto the Upper City before Carth could reply, and the two of them marched past the Sith who guarded the area. Kohl acted as if the man wasn't even there, and Carth remained at her side.

Carth waited until they'd rounded the corner before speaking again. "There's a more practical reason to have me there. Bastila won't know who you are. She might fight you, or just generally screw things up."

"I think I can handle one Republic officer."

"She's a Jedi."

That bit of information caused Kohl to stop in the middle of the street. She stared at Carth, and he internally awarded himself a point for managing to surprise her. "Truly?" She pursed her lips. "Interesting."

She paused, thinking. After a moment, she began walking again, and he scurried – in a manly way – to keep up. "If she's a Jedi, and Brejik has managed to hang onto her for this long, he's probably got her in a neural disruptor or something like it. This might actually make things easier."

"What? How?"

"The swoop race is going to be broadcast all over the planet. They always are. Even the so-called nobility tunes in to watch. And you can bet that the Sith will be, too." She fixed a hard look on him. "_That' s_ why I don't want you there, Onasi. It's bad enough that your friend's face is going to be on the holocast. I don't need them seeing you, too. And I certainly don't need Davik seeing me working with you and wondering why."

Carth did not reply, unable to argue the point. More exposure was definitely not something either he or Bastila needed. The two of them walked along in silence, until Carth realized that they were both headed directly for the building where he'd based himself for the past two days. Kohl entered the building. And without being told, headed directly for his apartment. This unconscious demonstration of just how much she'd found out about him made him even more nervous.

She let him unlock the door, and when it opened, he received another surprise. Two surprises: Mission and Zaalbar, sitting at the table in the corner, playing Pazaak.

The teenager looked up and smiled brightly. "Hi, Carth!" Zaalbar yowled a greeting as well.

Carth looked at Kohl, and wondered if his face was as pale as it felt. The assassin was looking at him with an intense gaze.

She spoke, her voice pitched for the two of them alone. "I'm entrusting something precious to me to your care, Onasi. We're _both_ risking much here. Try to remember that."

* * *

Leaving those words ringing in his ears, Kohl had left, claiming that she had final preparations to make in the Lower City and with the Hidden Beks. Her final instructions were for the three of them to visit Kebla Yurt's equipment shop and gear up, putting it on Davik's tab. Credits were no object.

"Won't Davik be mad about that?" Mission had asked.

Kohl had shot the Twi'lek a smirk. "By the time he finds out about it, it won't matter one way or another." And then she had left.

They'd done as she asked, although a man walking through upper Taris with a Twi'lek and a Wookiee drew many stares. Carth's poor view of the planet was reinforced by the outright bigotry he saw in those looks. Mission was delighted enough by the shopping trip that she didn't notice, but he made eye contact with Zaalbar and saw the resignation there.

Kebla, at least, had no compunction about selling to aliens. In fact, the three of them made her very happy, as Carth picked up new armour, and helped Mission select the best set which would fit her smaller frame. New vibroblades, grenades, a high-quality blaster pistol for Mission, and even some parts Zaalbar claimed he could use to improve their weapons, were all added to the pile. Carth felt vaguely guilty about the tab they ran up, and hoped Kebla wouldn't be held responsible by Davik.

They spent the better part of three hours in the shop, and the sun was going down by the time they went back to the apartment. Kohl still wasn't back, so the three of them ate together, Mission babbling nonstop. He'd cast an amazed glance at Zaalbar, who just shrugged helplessly. He suspected her loquaciousness didn't bother the quiet alien all that much, seeing the genuine fondness in the Wookiee's eyes when he looked at the teenager.

Despite himself, Carth found himself gaining respect for the assassin for putting herself between Davik and the youngster. Slavery would have been especially harsh on such a free spirit; she probably wouldn't have survived it.

After the meal Zaalbar went to tinker at the nearby workbench, while the pilot pulled Mission aside and had her test-fire her new pistol, right there in the apartment. They made a target out of an old but sturdy table, after insuring the pistol wouldn't burn through it or bounce off. As it turned out, Mission was quite apt with a pistol, Kohl having taught her quite well. Carth had few tricks to add to her repertoire.

Kohl still wasn't back by midnight. Deciding they needed to be rested for the next day, Carth decided they should head to bed. Mission squawked, until she realized that he meant all of them, including himself. So, letting the two of them take the large bed he'd slept on before, Carth stretched himself out on the smaller bed on the opposite side of the room.

He wasn't sure what time he was awakened by the door opening. It was dark, and a figure entered the room, surprisingly silent. Keeping up the appearance of being asleep, Carth's hand inched toward the blaster under his pillow.

He stopped when the person stepped through the beam of light from the window, revealing it to be Kohl. She wandered past the opposite bed, checking up on Mission and Zaalbar. Then she walked over to the windowsill, becoming a dark shape cast in light.

He lay quietly, watching, as she pulled what he recognized as a medical injector from the pouch on her hip. She inserted a something into the clip, a tiny vial full of purple liquid, which she plucked from her pocket. She seemed to pause to regard the injector for a moment; then she lifted the injector to her neck, pressing it against her skin and pulling the trigger. There was a sharp, short hiss, and the woman jumped slightly, then relaxed. He saw her silhouette lay the injector down on the counter, and she leaned on the solid surface, a morose sigh escaping her. It was the most human sound he'd heard her make.

His lip twisted in disgust. She was the least likely person he'd imagine to indulge in narcotics, but he supposed everyone had a weakness, even someone who despised weakness in everyone else. _So that's how Davik keeps her_. He let his head fall back, trying to return to sleep, trying to forget the image of her shooting up.

"Whatever you're thinking is wrong." Her soft voice carried easily across the small apartment.

He probably shouldn't have been surprised that she knew he was awake. "None of my business," he replied, equally softly, to avoid waking Mission and Zaalbar.

She turned to look at him, and even in the shadows her eyes seemed to catch the light and glitter. "You're right. It's not."

Dismissing him, Kohl went over to the bed where Mission and Zaalbar lay. Rolling up her coat into a makeshift pillow, she stretched out on the floor beside them.

Carth did not find sleep for some time.


	6. Chapter 6: Prizes

Despite struggling to get back to sleep, Carth was the first to wake up the next morning. He blinked away the sleep, his mouth dry. Ingrained senses forced him awake quickly, since he wasn't alone in the apartment. Turning his head, he checked that Mission, Zaalbar, and Kohl were still where he left them.

Levering himself into a sitting position, desperately needing some caffa, he found himself surprised that Kohl was still asleep. Somehow he figured she'd be awake already. _What do you think she does at night, Onasi? Sits in the dark and waits?_ He shook his head and stood up.

She might sleep, but it was anything but restful, he noted. He was surprised by how different she looked. None of her normal attitude was visible; instead she looked sad, almost vulnerable. She moaned softly and thrashed in her sleep, and Carth wondered what kind of dreams would torment someone so lethal and razor-edged.

She gasped and started muttering something in a language he didn't recognize, becoming more agitated in her sleep. He leaned over her, concerned, wondering whether he should wake her. He reached out to touch her shoulder...

"That's probably the stupidest thing in the galaxy you could do, Republic. But don't let me stop you."

The pilot nearly leaped out of his skin, spinning around to find a man sitting in one of the chairs lined up by the wall near the door. The chair was almost too small for his large, muscular frame, and he held an unlit cigarra in one hand. Beside him, a utility droid sat quietly on the floor, watching Carth with interest.

"Canderous, keep it down," mumbled Mission sleepily from the bed in the corner where she lay half on top of Zaalbar, using the Wookiee like a huge, furry pillow. Her lekku twitched in the dim light.

Canderous sneered in her direction. "I'm just keeping Kohl's joy-boy from getting himself hurt."

Carth glared at the big man. His size, attitude, and numerous scars would have identified him as a Mandalorian, even if Carth hadn't recognized the Mandalorian-built carbine blaster currently sitting on the floor beside him. "Who are you? How'd you get in here?"

Canderous looked up at him from his seat, unimpressed and un-intimidated. "Name's Canderous Ordo. I'm Kohl's partner in this little venture. And yours now, too, I'm told. As for how I got in... the building caretaker can be very accommodating, when you ask politely."

"Am I running a hotel now? She didn't mention anything about someone else showing up here."

"I'm here to put you to work. Get your blasters, you'll be coming with me."

Carth didn't like the sound of that, and he certainly didn't like the idea of taking orders from a Mandalorian. "Where? To do what?"

Canderous smirked at him, though the expression on his craggy face looked more like a grimace. "To kill Sith."

* * *

The two men headed outside, to where Canderous had a speeder parked. It took the two of them to lift the droid – apparently designated T3-M4 – into the rear cargo area of the speeder, where the droid sat and whistled at them happily.

Dumping his big repeating blaster into the rear seat, Canderous slid into the operator's seat, firing up the vehicle's repulsors, and the speeder lifted half a metre off the ground with a hum. Carth likewise hopped into the passenger's seat, and after a moment to light his cigarra, Canderous pushed forward the throttle. The speeder zipped into the air with ease.

"So this base used to belong to the Republic?" Carth asked while Canderous piloted.

"More like the shoddy militia the Taris government had," his partner explained. "When the Sith came in, they rolled right over the resistance the planet put up. When they surrendered, they took over the base."

"And they keep the orbital defence net codes there?"

"Seems like. The only way a ship can get off the planet is by the personal authorization of the governor. And since the governor lives in the base... we go there."

Carth nodded. Then, after a moment, "You realize you're talking about invading one of the most defended places on Taris at the moment, right?"

"Yeah." The Mandalorian turned to grin at him. "This should be glorious."

The pilot couldn't quite agree. After a few minutes of silence, watching the buildings and spires of Taris pass underneath them, Carth turned to the big man. "Why _are_ you helping with this? What do you get out of it?"

"Besides the satisfaction of a battle well-fought? After the war, Davik hired me to be an enforcer. I've never been been particularly drawn to crushing street trash like the swoop gangs. And as of late, Davik hasn't been paying me what he promised. So Kohl came to me, saying she wanted to leave, and I decided it was time I moved on, too."

"And you always follow her lead?"

"What Kohl wants, Kohl usually gets."

"_You're_ scared of her?"

Canderous snorted. "Onasi, if you don't have a healthy fear of that woman, then you're not as smart as you pretend to be."

"Where is she from? What's her story?"

"Nobody knows." He glanced sideways, and caught Carth's sceptical look. "I'm serious. She arrived here a bit over a year ago, on a transport ship doing business for Davik. Half the crew was dead by the time they docked... the survivors had sealed her away on the lower decks. Personally, I think they tried to rape her after they found her stowing away." He smirked. "I'm guessing, based one what she _did_ to the two of them."

Carth suddenly felt ill.

"Anyway, Davik sent me in to waste her. But when she fought back..." He shook his head in admiration. "She nearly handed me my ass. She gave me this," he indicated a long, thin, white scar which ran from the side of his neck down past his collarbone, "with a knife from the galley. I walked into that ship with armour, a shield, and my repeater, and it took everything I had to knock out a half-naked woman with a kitchen utensil."

"I'm surprised you didn't kill her."

Canderous scowled at him. "You don't kill a woman like that. You marry her, and raise fine warrior children."

He continued. "Anyway, Davik decides to question her, try to find out where she came from. Turns out she doesn't know. Can't remember getting on the ship, can't remember anything before the ship, can't even remember her own name. Took her about a week to recover all her speech skills... and trust me, she can speak nearly any alien language you care to name.

"That's what those dreams are. They're not really nightmares. I'm guessing they're memories, from her previous life. But she has a hard time remembering them when she wakes up, and she _always_ wakes up mad because of it. So here's a piece of advice: steer clear of her until after breakfast."

"She _wakes up_ mad? This is somehow different from the other hours of the day?" He couldn't believe he was joking with a Mandalorian. Couldn't believe he was about to attack a Sith base _beside _a Mandalorian.

Of course, he also couldn't believe that what he'd seen so far might be Kohl's idea of a _good_ mood.

Canderous laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "Onasi, that woman is all business. The only things that can really lather her are Davik, Mission, and questions about her past. You avoid those, and you'll be okay. She might still slit your throat, but at least you'll know it wasn't personal." He shook his head admiringly. "She'd make one hell of a Mandalorian."

"Quite the endorsement," Carth muttered. Canderous nodded as if it was obvious. "So, she's an expert fighter, and speaks lots of languages. Why has she stuck around this long for Davik? Surely she doesn't feel like she owes him or something."

The Mandalorian barked another harsh laugh. "Republic, Davik is number one on her hit list. But he's got something on her, I'm not sure what." The muscles bunched in his jaw. "I think maybe he threatened the Twi'lek girl. Mission was a new slave at Davik's estate when Kohl arrived. She kinda took to her... she's almost adopted her and the Wookiee."

Carth raised his eyebrows in surprise. "She doesn't strike me as the sentimental type."

"She not, usually. It's too bad. If not for those two, she'd be the perfect woman," Canderous grumbled. "At least she had the sense to finally get the girl blooded."

Carth clenched his teeth, having very definite opinions about the proper way to raise a child, but heading into a combat situation was not the time to start an argument with the person watching your back, so he swallowed his words.

Besides, he realized with a twinge of guilt, he hadn't been around enough when Dustil was growing up to rightfully criticize others. Morgana had warned him that he was going to miss his son becoming a man completely. She'd been right, like she always was. For more right than either he or she had realized at the time.

He was shaken from his morose thoughts as Canderous ducked the speeder under an elevated street, then swooped around to land it smoothly on a platform nearby. He found himself on one of Taris' many elevated streetways, stretching between the complexes behind him, and extending forward into a very intimidating, squat building in front of him. There was only a single visible set of doors into the building, a heavy set of durasteel sheets that looked like they could take a direct hit from a naval turbolaser.

Carth was very surprised to see the lack of any kind of guard. "Is it smart to do this in the middle of the day?"

"You have a better time?" Canderous replied. "Nearly all the troops are out patrolling the streets, because they're expecting trouble from the swoop gangs after the race. The base is practically empty."

The two hopped out of the speeder, fetching their weapons, and together they helped T3 down from its perch on the back of the vehicle. The little droid followed obediently as they walked up to the doors, Carth nervously looking for the defence turrets he figured _had_ to be there.

Canderous had no such reservations, striding up to the Sith base as if he owned it. He tapped the access button on the door controls, just to be sure, but was not surprised when the panel rejected him.

Waving T3 over, he pointed at the panel. "Come on now, rust bucket. Time to see whether you were worth all those credits."

The droid emitted a raspberry sound at the Mandalorian, obviously insulted, but plugged itself into the data port just below the panel. It hummed away, thinking, and at one point a pair of articulators emerged from its body, cutting away a small piece of metal around the data port. A second interface arm then extended into the hole, jacking into some data conduit located deeper within the console.

Carth kept a watch out, though his agitation grew as the droid took more and more time. "How long is this going to take? We might as well just knock."

T3's head module tilted toward him. With an electronic snort, there was a spark, and the base doors slid open.

Canderous hefted his repeater. "You were saying?"

Sighing, Carth pulled his blasters. "I said, lead on'."

The Republic soldier entered the base like he'd been taught: blasters up, walking quietly and unhurriedly, his back to the walls, keeping an eye out for the first signs of the enemy. Canderous, however, walked straight through the main doors as if he owned the place, blaster carbine held in both hands, as if daring someone – anyone – to take a pot shot at him. Both men had their energy shields up, ready to deflect blaster fire.

As something of an anti-climax, there were no waiting Sith troopers just inside the base entrance. Instead, as the base doors closed behind them, a single Twi'leki woman looked up from behind a reception desk.

"Excuse me, but only author-" She stuttered to a stop, eyes enormous, as she saw the two men and the high-powered repeater aimed between her eyes.

"Hit an alarm, shout, or otherwise make a fuss, and I'll blow what questionable brains you might have out over the floor," growled Canderous. "Put your hands up where I can see them."

The receptionist nervously complied, standing, her lekku twitching with agitation. "Please," she begged. "I'm just a secretary. I don't really want to work for them, but they executed any of the old staff who objected."

"Then run," Canderous said. "You're going to be unemployed after today, one way or another."

The Twi'lek nodded, then scurried past them to jab at the front door controls, dashing out as the doors opened. "Good luck!" she called back over her shoulder.

Carth watched the situation, and raised an eyebrow at the other man. "Mercy from a Mandalorian?" he commented, surprised.

Canderous growled at the implied slight. "There's no honour in killing a secretary. Bucket!" he gestured at T3, who had rolled in behind them. "Can you penetrate their datanet from here?"

The droid whistled an hesitant affirmative; rolling behind the console, it found the data port and plugged in. It hummed, and after a few seconds, warbled a series of disappointed beeps.

"They must keep the codes in a separate location," commented Carth. "Check for references."

T3 beep an affirmative; using the console's main display, it pulled up a graphical map of the complex, drawing a line to the most probable location of the defence codes.

"The governor's quarters. We should have expected that."

"Disable the surveillance system, and erase the last hour of logs," Canderous commanded. "No need to have the Sith knocking down Davik's door before we've had a chance to do it ourselves."

T3 squeaked an affirmative, and for a minute it sat, humming industriously. Eventually it disconnected from the console and toodled.

"Fine," Canderous replied. He turned to Carth. "Looks like we're headed to the sub-level."

"Lead the way."

As Canderous had predicted, they encountered few inhabitants in the base. Those that were unfortunate enough to blunder in front of the two men were quickly and easily dispatched, and Carth was beginning to wonder if the man could have just shot the Sith fleet out of the sky with that repeater of his. Advancing through the base was almost ridiculously easy; and as a result, Carth became more nervous, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It seemed his apprehension was well-founded, as they discovered the elevator was guarded by a pair of turrets and a large battle droid; but the little T3 unit proved its worth once again, corrupting the turrets' targeting algorithms and disabling the battle droid's shield. The two men lured the droid into the corridor where it could be destroyed, and then each dispatched one of the turrets. Then, there was nothing between them and the elevator.

The elevator opened up onto a single, straight corridor. "What's down here?" Carth asked.

"According to the schematic the droid pulled up, just the governor's quarters. We're going to probably have to wax this guy. You got a problem with that?"

"A Sith governor?" He raised his blasters to his shoulders. "No problem at all."

The other man nodded, than strode down the hall, followed faithfully by T3. The three gathered at the door. Canderous made eye contact with the pilot, who nodded. At that signal, he tapped the door control.

The door slid open to reveal one man, kneeling in the middle of what appeared to be a general computing and surveillance centre. Computers and screens lined the walls of the mostly-circular area, and a door to the right led off to sleeping quarters.

"It's about time." The man stood up, facing them, and Carth's mouth went dry as he realized the Sith wore the armour of a Dark Jedi. A double-bladed sword was held in his left hand, a far-cryu from a lightsaber, but deadly enough. "I've been waiting for you. You'd think if you were going to come here, you could have the courtesy to not keep your host waiting," he sneered.

"Down you go!" Carth shouted, as he opened fire with both blasters. The bolts bounced off a personal shield, and suddenly he was flying through the air, struck by an invisible hand. He hit the floor and managed to roll.

_A Force-Adept. Wonderful._

Canderous opened up with his repeater, but the damnable shield interfered again, glowing under the assault but not yielding. T3 attempted to assist with its own equipped blaster, but the Sith extended a hand, and a torrent of Force lightning arced out to wash over the little droid. T3 squealed with electronic pain and spun away, panels popping off and secondary short-circuits arcing across its chassis.

Before Canderous could get off another barrage, the Sith surged forward and slashed at his belly, and the big man was forced to use the blaster carbine as a makeshift melee weapon, blocking the attack and trying to club his opponent. The Sith easily dodged the counterattack, bringing the other blade up to catch him in the ribs. The armour blocked most of the cut, but enough got through to draw a grunt of pain from him.

Before he could drop the repeater and draw his own sword, the Sith thrust a palm into his chest, and Force lightning wrapped around his body. The Mandalorian was thrown across the room, an agonized scream torn from him as the governor continued to pump voltage into his body.

Carth dropped his blasters, pulling out his sword and activating his own shield. He rushed the Sith, who diverted his lightning from Canderous to him. The voltage washed over his shield, but Carth kept coming, forcing the Sith to use both hands on his blade to block a powerful overhead blow.

The pilot was no slouch with a blade, but he knew immediately the Sith was playing with him. All of his thrusts and slashes were easily blocked, and the Sith scored cuts on his legs and arm, sometimes even opting for painful and insulting strikes against his body with the flat of his blades.

Carth swung a vicious horizontal cut, hoping to score a hit through plain brute force. The Sith parried his strike upward, and then suddenly Carth was flying again. This time he struck the wall, feeling his ribs crack from the force of the blow. He crashed to his face on the floor, unable to draw breath, his sword clattering away.

The governor swaggered over to the fallen pilot. "When I felt intruders on the base, I was actually looking forward to a decent challenge. The pair of you managed to get this far... I thought you'd be of sufficient merit to earn me my lightsaber from Lord Malak." Another crash of lightning, igniting every nerve in Carth's body. He wasn't even able to move his chest enough to scream. "Overall, this has been very disappointing."

Carth was in a haze of pain, struggling to prop himself up on his hands and knees. T3 was down for the count, and he suspected even Canderous wouldn't be enough to save him now. He saw the governor looking down at him, and felt a surge of anger that would have done a Dark Jedi justice.

"Really now, what did you hope to gain with this foolish endeavour?"

"B... Bastila..."

"Eh?" The governor approached and kicked Carth onto his back. The pilot gasped, clutching at his ribs. "Bastila Shan? What do you know of her?"

"Jedi-"

"Yes, yes, I know she's a Jedi! _Where is she?_" He leaned down and seized the pilot by the throat. "You will tell me where she is, or I swear by the ghost of Ajunta Paal, you'll wish I'd killed you right now."

Carth wanted to say something witty and heroic, but nothing came to mind. So it was only with a defiant look that he armed the Gamorrean grenade he'd plucked from his jacket pocket, and jammed it down the front of the governor's armour. With the last of his strength, he braced his feet against the Sith's chest, and thrust him away, the horrified look on the man's face warming his soul in a way Carth hadn't thought possible. He jammed his hand onto the control of his shield armband, hoping the device had enough power left.

The governor was jumping around, screeching, clawing at the clasps on his chest plate. He was too slow; the grenade detonated, and the head of Sith government on Taris disappeared in a flash of plasma.

Despite his shield, the blast picked up Carth and slammed him again into the nearby wall. The force field absorbed and reflected the deadly heat and energy, but could do little to block the kinetic shock. His ears rang, and for long moments he could only lay on the floor, every breath an effort.

A figure loomed over him; he looked up to see Canderous standing there, burned, bruised, and bleeding, but otherwise alive. "Are you dead?" he asked, not sounding as if he cared either way.

"Ask me again a minute," Carth rasped.

"That was pretty damned foolish, Republic. You could have killed all of us, just to get him." Canderous laughed, clutching his ribs in sudden agony as he did so. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."

* * *

Kohl wandered around the flight bay of the swoop track, waiting for her turn to race. The other riders, nearly two dozen sentients of various species, watched her nervously – but she was used to that, and ignored their sideways glances.

Off to the side of the bay, near the race monitor's console, was the cage where her target, the Jedi Bastila, was kept. She took care not to immediately walk straight to the cage to check up on the incapacitated woman, as she was sure Carth would have. Instead, she idled around the set of holoprojectors next to the main bay doors, watching the racers run their heats alongside the others.

Before long, it wasn't necessary to fake boredom, and she began to move in a slow circle around the perimeter of the bay. The circle took her past the emergency exit, the large transparisteel windows which allowed viewing a small section of the track, and then finally past the cage. She took note of the cameras which watched the swoop bay, broadcasting the entire race to the rest of the planet.

By virtue of being the leader putting up the prize, Brejik had been permitted to post some guards within the bay. A pair of Vulkars stood near the cage, both armed with blades. The two guards, a Weequay and a Trandoshan, fingered their weapons nervously as she approached. She smothered a smirk as they did so; they were afraid of her, and that's the way it should be.

Keeping her arms crossed in front of her, she scrutinized the woman inside the cage. That she'd been a Republic officer was no longer obvious; Brejik, the idiot, had dressed her up in a joy-girl outfit, which left her legs, shoulders, and a goodly amount of her cleavage evident. The woman was slightly taller than Kohl, shapely, pretty, with a smooth oval face and generous lips.

She stood in the cage, wavering slightly as though inebriated; her eyes were closed, and she did not respond to any of the hooting and shouting of the racers. Her will was broken by the neural disruptor which circled her neck; the device suppressed higher brain functions, leaving the woman in a highly suggestible state, highly compliant to immediate commands. That would all change once the collar was removed, of course, but Kohl had no intention of doing so until the woman was safely in Carth's hideaway. She had no desire to trade a compliant rescue-ee for one that would undoubtedly demand explanations, resist commands, and otherwise interfere with the mission.

At least the woman was unhurt, Kohl noted. She leaned in, squinting. Something about the Jedi's face was familiar. She puzzled, rooting through her decidedly short range of memories, trying to place the woman's face...

She blinked, as images flashed across her mind, unbidden. _A brunette Jedi, wielding a yellow lightsaber. She cut and slashed, quick as a whirlwind, until her opponent, a Dark Jedi holding a red saber, made a fatal mistake. A thrust, and the fight was over._

_...Or it was just beginning. The Jedi looked up, and her eyes widened with fear..._

Kohl shook her head. _That_ had never happened before. The images had been vivid, immersing, but lacking any emotional content. Had it been a memory? In the past, she'd never been able to call forth any bits or pieces of the life she'd lived before Davik had discovered her on his transport ship. Discovered her, enslaved her, giving her a name that wasn't her own.

It hadn't _felt_ like a memory...

Her introspection was interrupted by a growled voice beside her. "Kohl."

She turned her head and looked up, and found herself looking at a very displeased Brejik of the Black Vulkars. The dark-skinned human radiated anger. His ire pleased her, and she found herself smiling slightly. "Brejik."

Her scanned her up and down, noting the Bek colours painted onto the tight-fighting silver racing suit she wore. "You're no Bek. What are you doing here? What does Davik want?"

Kohl regarded the Vulkar coolly. She tossed her head at the woman within the cage. "Davik wants the woman."

Brejik glared at her. "She's the prize for winning the race. This is a swoop gang tradition... even Davik can't interfere!"

"Who's interfering? I'm going to race for the Beks. I'm going to win for the Beks. If they decide to give the woman over to us afterwards, that's really none of your concerned, is it?" She held her hands wide. "I'm not even armed."

Brejik glared at her, seething, but unable to respond. In a way, it was a disappointment... if he challenged her on the spot, she could kill him and be done with it, and not waste her time in the foolish race. But alas, he was not so accommodating, spinning on his heel, stomping away, shouting at one of his racers as if by volume alone he could make them drive faster.

Kohl sighed internally. Such a child.

Seeing no purpose toward hanging around the cage other than to make the Black Vulkars nervous, she walked back to the observation area. One of the racers had wiped out, and the others hooted and jeered, and a fight nearly broke out between one of the dead racer's gang and a Vulkar. Kohl observed with a lack of interest; she merely wanted to complete her mission and leave.

In time, her name was called by the race coordinator, and she strode forward, proceeding through the doors to the track where her donated swoop bike waited. Unlike some of the other racers, she didn't bother with a helmet – if a sentient hit the ground at two hundred kilometres per hour, she didn't see how a helmet would possibly be useful.

She did a quick walk-around inspection of her swoop, pressing on the repulsors, tugging on the steering flaps, and revving the engine up to near-red-line with the thrusters disengaged. Satisfied that the swoop was safe – or, at least, not tampered with, she straddled it, signalling to the observer that she was ready to go.

She sat on the bike, and closed her eyes as the start timer counted down. She reached inside for that place within her; that place that was far less than human, and sometimes far more. Sometimes it was as cool as a fountain, other times as hot as a planetary core. Yet it always guided her, if she let it; it told her when to move, when to run, when to kill. It made an animal out of her, a creature of pure instinct and reaction, and she gloried in it.

Her foot slammed down on the accelerator a split second before the go' indicator came on. The swoop bike exploded forward, and when she opened her eyes, it was if she could see the entire one-kilometre length of the track all at once.

A swoop race was essentially a solitary sprint. The bikers were expected to get off the finish line as quickly as possible, timing their up-shifting precisely, dodging the debris on the track, and taking advantage of the odd thrust-pads which would send a sudden shock into the thrusters of the swoop, producing the vehicle's distinctive sound and temporarily increasing the swoop's acceleration. The bike would eventually be moving fast enough that debris almost couldn't be seen before impact, and even the slightest mistake could sent the rider tumbling from the swoop's meagre frame onto the ground at hundreds of kilometres per hour.

Kohl found the exercise tedious.

The wind whipped through her hair as she tore down the track, but there was almost no thought in her head to notice it. Her arms almost moved of their own accord, her legs shifting her weight into precisely the right spot, drawing upon the deep well of skill and experience that was hidden behind a wall of lost memory. She was well past the finish line, the swoop almost stopped, when she came back to herself.

She had shaved five seconds off the shortest time posted. She had three heats to run; the lowest time of those would be posted as her score, and it was up to the other racers to beat that time on their own, randomly-ordered runs.

On her second heat, she dropped another two seconds. On her third, yet another second.

When she strutted back into the swoop bay, the cheers of the Beks greeted her, along with the jeers of the Vulkars and some of the other gangs. She ignored them all, walking to the back of the bay to await the finish.

She was at least amused to see some of the Vulkars, fearful of their leader's reaction should they lose, race with reckless abandon to beat her time. One managed to hit some debris near the end his run, tossing him from his bike and sending the Rodian to become a dark smear on the track; another overheated his engine, causing the bike to explode and crash right at the beginning of the run. He was thrown to the ground, where a few of his gang-mates were needed to pick up the badly-injured racer and carry him off. The wreckage of his swoop was left where it was, the newest addition to the swoop track.

Leaning against the wall, Kohl waited for the inevitable. And it came; after all the racers had run their heats, her time reigned supreme.

The Duros coordinator gestured at her. "We have a winner for this year's swoop race... Kohl, racing under the banner of the Hidden Beks!"

The Bek racers held up their appendages, howling, while the Vulkars snarled. Kohl walked past them, uncaring, to claim her prize.

However, as she expected, Brejik was there to meet her, playing difficult. "People, hear me! You all know that this so-called champion of the Beks, is no Bek at all!" He pointed at her, his face turning darker as he continued his tirade. "The Beks sell us out, to the crime boss of Taris! Because of this Hidden Bek treachery, I'm withdrawing the Vulkar's share of the victory prize!"

She raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. The Duros coordinator was appalled. "You can't do this, Brejik! You know the rules: nobody's allowed to withdraw a victory prize after the race. It goes against all our most sacred traditions!"

The Vulkar leader sneered at him. "You old fool! Your traditions are nothing to me - I am the wave of the future! If I want to withdraw the prize and sell this woman on the slave market myself, nobody can stop me!"

"I might have something to say about that, Brejik."

Every head in the bay whipped about to look at the slave cage. Inside, the prisoner was staring at the Vulkar leader with plain hostility. She raised one hand, and the door wrenched off of the cage with a shriek of metal, flying forward to smash into the guard in front of her hard enough to shatter his helmet. The Vulkar fell to the ground and did not rise. Bastila stepped from her cage, and the double-blade that the guard had carried leaped into her hands of its own accord.

"What? Impossible!" Some real fear appeared on Brejik's face. "You were restrained by a neural disruptor!"

"You underestimate the strength of a Jedi's mind, Brejik," she hissed. "A mistake you won't live to regret!"

Kohl groaned inwardly as the Republic woman proudly announced she was a Jedi to the entire planet via the holocast. _Idiot, grandiose Force-users!_ She pulled her knife from its hidden place in her boot, realizing there was only one possible way that Brejik would react to this...

"Vulkars, to me! Kill the woman! Kill the swoop riders! Kill them all!"

The swoop bay erupted into chaos, as Brejik's group pulled blades and blasters and began attacking any non-Vulkars nearby. Some of the other gang members produced weapons themselves, and met the Vulkars with equal ferocity. The rest scrambled out of the nearest exit, or were cut down by the rampaging followers of Brejik.

Bastila, double-blade in hand, moved toward the Vulkar leader with a grim fury visible on her face. She was intercepted by two gang members, and was forced to engage them, cutting and slashing at them with both ends of her sword. She was unused to the weight of the weapon compared to her lightsaber, and it showed, but she dodged and parried their attacks with expertise.

While the two Vulkars sparred with Bastila, another four, including Brejik, came after Kohl. The assassin smirked, privately pleased that she was still considered more dangerous than the Jedi – though if the woman had still had her lightsaber, she was sure the balance would have been different. Kohl had never fought a Jedi before – that she could remember – and wondered how she'd fare against such. Perhaps she'd get a chance to find out.

First, though, she had street trash to dispose of.

Brejik, the coward, hung back while his three lieutenants came at her. The first swung wildly, and she ducked in and under the swing, her rear foot rising up behind her to pound a heel into his belly as he stumbled past her. He hunched over with a wheeze, and she didn't even bother bloodying her knife, simply smashing him at the top of his spine with an elbow. He dropped like a stone, unmoving.

Holding her knife in a point-down grip, she parried a stab from another Vulkar, slashing at his hand, missing as he pulled back. She kept on him, cutting at him. A blaster bolt passed dangerously close to her from a fight on the other side of the bay; she ignored it. The Vulkar was terrified, and the fright in his eyes was hypnotizing to her. Finally he snapped and lunged; she let the blade pass harmlessly under her arm, stepping inside his grip to plant her knife into the side of his throat. His sword fell from limp fingers.

Brejik had drawn his blaster and was firing; she pulled the dead Vulkar around as a shield, leaving her knife in his neck. She grasped at his blaster, pulling it and firing, forcing the Vulkar leader to dive away. She redirected her aim, and shot the unfortunate Rodian racer who had been trying to figure out how to stab her without getting shot by his own leader.

Brejik came up shooting, this time protected by a shield, and Kohl growled as her own shots bounced off. Tossing the dead body aside, she rolled under his fire, snatching up the Rodian's vibroblade as she did so. His fire followed her as she dove behind the race coordinator's console.

She paused, crouching, recovering her breath. Most of the fighting was done; apparently the Beks and other gangs had run, leaving her to deal with Brejik on her own. Kohl noted that Bastila had already disposed of one of her attackers and was near to finishing the second; she didn't have much time.

She could hear – could _feel_ – Brejik slowly circling the console, looking to get a shot at her. She decided to oblige him... by leaping straight over the console, pouncing down on him like a jungle cat. He got off one wild shot, which cored into the ceiling, before her sword bit into his shoulder, unaffected by the energy shield. His armour stopped most of the cutting power, but the raw force nearly drove him to his knees, and he howled in agony.

He kicked out, planting a foot into her belly, and managed to knock her back. His left arm hanging limply, he dropped his blaster and pulled out his sword, a good quality Zabrak blade. He snarled at her over the tip, meeting her cold, emotionless gaze.

She swung; he blocked. He stabbed, she parried. He attacked with a powerful diagonal swing, which she barely blocked, trying to use his raw size and mass to drive her down. When their blades locked, he didn't let up, pushing down with all he could bear. She met him with equal force, pushing back, and the two snarled at each other over their blades, faces a hand's breadth apart.

Her blood sang in her ears, and it was all she could do not to laugh.

"When I'm done with you and the Jedi," Brejik growled over their locked blades, "I'm going to take special care of that little blue Twi'lek, don't you worry."

"Brejik, you never _did_ know when to shut up." Suddenly she dodged aside, and he stumbled forward. In a split second her blade swung around and buried itself into him, just above his hip, below the protection of his armour. He uttered a choked gasp.

She kicked his legs, and he fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the floor. Tearing loose her blade, Kohl seized his neck, leaning in close to whisper into his ear. "You wanted everything. Now you'll have nothing. How fitting." He looked up at her, eyes wide, and his mouth gasped at air. Tilting his head back, the assassin slit his throat.

With a shove, she knocked him onto his side, and Brejik died as leader of the Vulkars... the gang of corpses.

* * *

The last Vulkar choked his last breath as Bastila impaled him with the double blade. She was appalled that it had taken so long to finish him. He had been competent, yes, and his fool partner with the blaster had complicated things, yes... but she was a Jedi! Grubby criminals should have fallen easily, whether she had her lightsaber or not. She decided that she was still out-of-sorts from the damnable neural disruptor... but she was feeling better each moment.

She turned, looking for Brejik, feeling a very un-Jedi-like anticipation for fighting him. Instead, a strong hand snaked over her shoulder to seize her throat, and the muzzle of a blaster jammed into her back. She was pulled backwards, off balance, until she found her back pressed up against a feminine chest. A face pressed against the side of her head, and a voice growled into her ear.

"Don't move. No Force tricks. Understand?" She struggled anyway, but the hand on her neck was like iron, and the blaster was dug into her back painfully. "Do. You. _Understand?_"

She stopped moving and nodded, on the verge of tears. She'd been so close to freedom! Who was this person, anyway, to be able to sneak up on a Jedi?

"Drop the blade." Bastila let the double-blade fall to the ground with a clatter. The woman's head shifted closer, and the Jedi could feel lips brushing against her ear. Neither the hand nor the blaster budged from their positions, and her captor kept her rocked back, her back arched, unable to find purchase to throw her off. "Good. Now, we've got cameras aimed at us, and half the planet is watching. So if you want to get out of this intact, you'd better play along and try to repress your Jedi penchant for theatrics. I promised to take you to Carth Onasi. I didn't promise that you had to be in one piece."

Bastila blinked. "Car-" The hand clenched, choking the name before it could leave her throat.

"Shut up. You're my prisoner, and you'd better act like it until we're out of here." The hand released her, and she felt the blaster removed from her back. "Turn around," the woman said more loudly.

Bastila did so. And when she saw who had captured her, a face from her nightmares, her heart nearly stopped in her chest. _Revan!_

"You're coming with me," the other woman commanded. "You're going to walk in front of me, and you're going to behave. You may be fast, but try anything and you'll find out if you're faster than a blaster bolt. Understand?" Speechless, terrified, Bastila could only nod. "Good." She gestured with her free hand. The hand holding the blaster wavered not a millimetre.

Obedient, Bastila moved, walking in front of the former Sith. She was confused; Revan seemed to show no sign of recognition. And Carth Onasi! How did she know she'd arrived at Taris with him, unless he'd told her? How much did she remember? What had been going _on_ since she'd been captured?

She was shocked by the bodies strewn around the swoop bay. Whatever Revan had lost, she'd certainly retained her combat skills. As they passed Brejik's body, Bastila had to quell the urge to spit on it.

Revan did not guide her through the main exit of the swoop bay, instead gesturing her to a side door, marked as an emergency exit. No alarm tripped when the door opened, and Revan was quick about forcing her through and shutting the door behind them, jamming the locking mechanism with the butt of her weapon. A set of metal stairs extended up as far as Bastila could see, a dark and decrepit path upward.

"Good. We're out of view of the cameras here. Come on." She slipped past Bastila, holstering her blaster. She bounded up the first flight of stairs, bending down to grab something off the floor, tossing it to the Jedi. Bastila looked at the item in her arms, a set of all-purpose coveralls. "Put those on, and be quick about it."

"You... you were sent by Carth Onasi?" she asked, scrambling into the clothes, grateful to be wearing anything more covering than the joy-girl outfit Brejik had forced her into.

"In a manner of speaking. You and him can discuss it later. My name is Kohl." As Bastila zipped up the coveralls, she looked up to see Revan – _Kohl_ – watching her with a curious expression. "Do I know you?"

Bastila's mouth went dry. _She doesn't remember!_ She fought to keep any hesitation or stuttering out of her voice. "You've probably seen me on a holocast or something. I'd be surprised if you haven't."

Kohl watched her, and those grey eyes seemed to pierce her soul. It took all of Bastila's will to not fidget, to not quiver with fear that she would remember and would decide to finish what they'd started on the bridge of the _Leviathan,_ so many months ago.

"Keep up," she finally said. "We've got far to go on foot, and I don't plan on waiting for you." Bastila nodded, and followed the other woman as she began to climb the stairs.

_This mission has just gotten much more complicated..._


	7. Chapter 7: Escape

The hidden stairwell had gotten the two women away from the swoop track, but unfortunately it did not extend up to the Upper City. Kohl led them through a labyrinthine series of tunnels and more stairs, until Bastila was so turned around she wasn't sure she'd be able to find her way back. The amnesiac woman didn't seem inclined to explain her destination, and Bastila was fearful of asking. So she followed, and hoped she was doing the right thing.

Finally they came to the end of a tunnel, and Kohl opened a door, which was more of a hatch, embedded into the wall. Inside was a dark shaft, and the sound of rumbling machinery. She ducked her head inside, then quickly pulled back, as a wall of metal descended past.

"Just in time," she commented. "Be ready to jump!"

"What? But-"

She squawked as Kohl seized her wrist and pulled her through the hatch, just as the object had cleared way. She found herself falling, her Jedi reflexes kicking in, using the Force to slow her descent, and she landed on top of what she recognized as a large industrial lift. Kohl landed beside her, making no more noise than she, and Bastila was astonished to realize that the other woman had done so without using the Force at all.

Of course, now she found herself on top of a giant rumbling box, currently descending toward the Lower City. "What are we-"

Kohl gestured angrily for silence; creeping over to a panel on the roof of the elevator, she lifted it slightly, peeking inside. She waved Bastila over, pointing. She followed, and when she looked inside the elevator, she saw an entire company of armed Sith troops. Her eyes went wide with alarm.

The raven-haired woman let the panel fall back into place carefully, then sat down, as if she lacked a care in the world. Bastila watched with a barely-concealed mix of awe, fear, and amusement.

After half a minute more of travel, the elevator came to a rumbling stop. From on top, the two could hear the doors open, and the Sith troops empty out with the sound of stomping armoured feet. When the door was heard closing again, Kohl leaned over and lifted the panel, confirming that no-one else had gotten on.

"Right, then." She stood, and walked to a corner of the elevator, peeling up yet another panel, reaching inside to dig around amongst a variety of exposed wires. She selected a pair, cut them out with her knife, and then touched them together. The lift rumbled back into action, climbing upwards.

Trying not to think about how Revan was known to be fond of and adept with machinery, Bastila glanced upward at the dark shaft which stretched above them. "Should we climb down?"

Kohl shook her head. "No, we don't know who will be outside the lift when it opens up top. We let it open, see who reacts, then we drop."

"We won't be crushed against the top of the shaft?"

"That _would_ be embarrassing, yes." Kohl said no more, and Bastila found herself fighting back even more worry.

Kohl opened the panel to the inside even as the lift ground to a halt a minute later, and the elevator stopped far short of the top of the shaft, to Bastila's relief. The older woman's caution proved reasonable, as when the elevator doors opened seemingly of their own accord, they could hear a tinny voice query from outside. After a moment, a trooper in full armour advanced cautiously into the lift.

The next sound the trooper made was a yelp as Kohl dropped onto him; he only staggered as she glanced off him from above, but she didn't let up, landing as easily as a cat, seizing his helmet and driving his head into the elevator's side wall with brutal force. Dazed, he was unable to even lift his blaster as she did it again, and when he collapsed to his knees, she wrapped her arms around his helmet and twisted. The Sith flopped bonelessly to the floor.

"You can come down now."

Bastila hopped down apprehensively. The vicious fighting style Kohl sported was far different from what she was used to, and was unlike anything she expected a Jedi to use, current or former.

"Could you use his armour as a disguise?" she suggested, looking down at the limp form.

"It'd take too long. Help me." Together, they picked up the trooper by the arms, and carefully peeking out through the elevator doors, dragged the body outside. The corner of the city they emerged into was mercifully free of casual traffic. The two pulled the dead trooper over to the side of the Upper City platform, and with zero remorse, Kohl pitched the body over the retaining barrier to enjoy a long drop to the Lower City.

"That'll confuse them for a bit, if they even bother looking for him. Come."

Kohl had evidentially planned her exploits well in advance; ducking around a corner, they came upon a speeder parked nearby. She hopped in and fired the vehicle up, and within moments the two were soaring through the skies amongst the normal Tarisian traffic.

Bastila observed her escort as she guided them through the traffic, keeping their speed down so as not to attract attention. "So how did you meet Carth Onasi?" she asked hesitantly.

Kohl glanced sideways at her passenger, and her lips quirked slightly. "The usual way. He caught my interest in a bar."

* * *

Bastila nearly exploded at that announcement, but Kohl took some small pity on her and explained the circumstances of their meeting while manoeuvring them to the apartment building where the others waited. The Jedi was pleased to hear that they already had a plan to get off the planet, though the other woman didn't immediately go into explanations.

Landing on the roof of the building, the two had soon taken a lift down to the floor where Carth's hideout was located. They received sideways glanced from the aliens which passed them in the halls, but were unconcerned about being reported. Keying-in the agreed-upon passcode Mission had hacked the door to use, Kohl opened the door to the apartment.

Inside, Canderous sat in the chair furthest from the door, facing them, his blaster nearby should he need it. Carth was stretched out on a bed nearby, his head rising up at their entrance, a medpack attached to his arm. Mission and Zaalbar sat nearby, the youngster playing with her Pazaak deck and Zaalbar fiddling with the internals of T3. The little droid twittered a greeting as they entered.

"Carth! Thank the Force," Bastila exclaimed, walking toward him.

He winced as he pushed himself up on the bed. "Bastila! You're alive! Finally, things are looking up."

Kohl looked over the two battered men. "What in the galaxy happened to you?"

"Sith Dark Jedi wannabe," grumbled Canderous. He raised his cigarra to his lips for a puff, wincing as the fresh skin around his mouth stretched. Though the Mandalorian had been far more badly injured than Carth, his regeneration implant had dealt with the injuries much faster than the kolto treatments, to the pilot's profound annoyance.

Kohl stood in front of the pilot, arms crossed. "Are you going to be able to fly?"

"Some burns, bruises, and cracked ribs. The kolto's doing its work. I won't be running any marathons, but I can fly."

She nodded, satisfied. "Mission." The girl looked up from where she was watching Zaalbar tweaking his bowcaster on the nearby workbench. "You and Zaalbar head to the estate and wait for me in my quarters. We can't show up all at once, but if you arrive early it won't be suspicious."

Mission stood, pocketing her cards and slinging her rifle over her shoulder like she'd carried one all her life. "Right. Come on, Big Z. Maybe you can get one last raid in on Davik's kitchen." The Wookiee yowled an exasperated reply, but picked up his own weapon and followed the Twi'lek out of the apartment.

There was silence in the room for a few moments. Canderous blew a stream of smoke, causing the assassin to glare at him, but he paid no attention. "How long do you think we have?"

"I don't know. Three, maybe four hours at most. Gadon and the other gangs will tie up the Sith in the Lower City for a while, but eventually they're going to figure out who the crime boss of Taris' refers to, and come knocking on Davik's door. We need to be there first."

"The medpack will have fixed my ribs in about half an hour. Can we wait that long?" Carth asked.

Kohl nodded. "You two will head out first. She and I will arrive in about an hour. That'll give Mission and Zaalbar time to get to the estate, and it's a believable amount of time for me to have escaped the Sith and subdued our Jedi friend here."

Bastila started. She had watched the conversation go on, obviously displeased at being out of the loop. "_Subdued_? What?"

Kohl reached into her pocket and pulled out a neural disruptor, and Bastila looked at the device with a new sense of dread. "Put this on."

"What? No!" Bastila took a step away. Alarmed, Carth levered himself to an upright position despite the pain in his sides.

The other woman rolled her eyes. "This collar is disabled. It's a necessary cover... since you decided to mouth off to the whole planet that you were a Jedi. If you were _just_ a Republic officer, it wouldn't be necessary, but there's no way Davik is going to believe I could contain you otherwise."

"_Contain_ me? What are you talking about?"

"That's the rest of the plan. Davik has the _Ebon Hawk_, the ship we need to get away. Canderous is going to introduce Carth, and mention how he helped him get the codes. That's enough to get them inside the compound. But for you – since Carth insists on bringing you along – the only way we'll get you in is if Davik thinks I fetched you to use as a bargaining chip with the Sith. Understand?"

"You expect me to put me back into that... _thing_, believing it disabled just because you say so?"

Kohl's eyes narrowed, and she stepped into the Jedi's personal space, growling into her face from a hand's breadth away. "If I wanted you in a working collar, I wouldn't need to trick you."

"It's a good plan," Carth offered. "And pretty much the only one we have at the moment."

"How much do you know about these two?" she demanded, turning to him and removing herself from Kohl's intimidating proximity. "I've just spent two days in one of those collars, and I'm not keen on putting myself back into one based on a couple of strangers!"

"We already have the codes, Bastila. They've come through this far." He shook his head. "Don't let your ego get in the way-"

"I'm your commanding officer, Commander, try to remember that!"

Carth's nostrils flared in sudden anger. He opened his mouth to respond, but Kohl interrupted, slashing the air with her hand. "_Enough_! When we're off-world, you two can sort your authority issues. Until then, the _Ebon Hawk_ is the objective."

She focused on Bastila, jabbing the Jedi in the chest with the collar. "You're going to put this neural collar on, and you're going to pretend to be a slave. You will keep your mouth shut, and do what you're told, just like if the collar was still working." She tilted her head, staring the other woman down. "If you endanger the rest of us over a matter of pride, I will sacrifice you. Do you understand?"

She visibly wilted under the woman's unyielding gaze, and after a hesitation, gingerly took the collar.

Kohl nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now I'm going to get out of this damned racing suit." She strode over to the refresher, Canderous tossing her a pack of clothing.

As soon as she'd closed to the door, Bastila sat down on the bed next to Carth with a sigh. Taking pity, he leaned in toward her. "It really is a good plan," he assured her.

"I know. I apologize for my outburst. I've been under a lot of stress and..." she shrugged, blushing.

"I understand. But we can't get hung up on who's in charge."

Canderous, who had been fitting a heavier blaster pistol into T3, picked that moment to pipe up. "What he means is, you're not top kath hound, princess... so get used to it."

Both Republic crew members regarded the man icily, but it was unlikely he would have cared, even if he'd been facing them to see.

Bastila dropped her voice to a near-whisper. "She frightens me, Carth," she reluctantly admitted.

He sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. "Oh, good. So it's not just me."

"It's more than just her demeanour. It's..." She shook her head.

"What?"

"No, I'm just guessing. I'm speaking of things best left to the Jedi Masters."

"What? What kind of statement is that?" Carth paused, thinking it through in his mind, coming to a disturbing conclusion. "Is she Force-sensitive?"

"I... I don't know. She certainly doesn't seem to be. But she's accomplished too much for it to be written off as a coincidence."

Carth sat, thinking. "That's a disturbing thought. I've seen her mad. With Force powers, she'd probably give Malak a run for his money."

Beside him, Bastila flinched.

* * *

From space, Taris gleamed like a jewel. Long ago, atmospheric scrubbers had removed the pollution of millennia of industrial growth, leaving the skies crystal clear. The skyscrapers of the city-planet shone even from space, stabbing upward from the planet as if the flaunt themselves.

To Malak, it was ironic. The chrome surface, so beautiful, hid such ugliness beneath. Rust, rot, disease. He'd come to the conclusion that everything in the universe was this way, that everything beautiful was built upon ugliness, and it was merely a matter of cutting away enough of the false beauty to show the truth.

He glared through the viewport at the world beneath. Taris... he hated this world. He remembered when he first visited it with Revan... how proud they'd felt, smashing a slaving ring, freeing hundreds of victimized sentients. They'd been adored by the populace.

They'd left, as Jedi inevitably did. And the Tarisians had gone right back to their old ways, preying upon each other, separating into castes of haves and have-nots, when the truth was they were all weak, all pathetic. The only thing left of what they'd done were the memories Malak carried of the camaraderie with his old friend. And that made him hate the world more than anything else.

And now, the reports that the primary base on the planet had been infiltrated, the appointed governor assassinated.

Revan had often said that Malak was too blunt, too direct, unable to see the subtleties of possible actions, of approaching a problem sideways – first as gentle teasing, eventually growing into active malice. But he was no fool, despite what that wretched woman had implied.

That base, that very office where the governor had been found reduced to bare DNA samples, held the codes which bypassed the defence network arranged within the fleet. There was no reason to believe that the Sith governor had been targeted as a political victory by the resistance on Taris, as some of his underlings suggested. There was every reason to believe that the _codes_ had been the goal, sought by a certain troublesome Jedi, and the governor had simply gotten in the way. No; the codes were loose, and the defence network was effectively compromised.

He could order the codes changed. But there was a more expedient, far more satisfying solution. His troops would pay the price for their own failure; the Tarisians would pay the price for their pathetic existence, their false beauty.

"You summoned me, Lord Malak?"

The Dark Lord turned to face Admiral Karath, and gave the order to slaughter a world.

* * *

As planned, Carth, Canderous, and T3 left a short while afterwards for Davik's estate, launch codes in hand. The pilot was nervous about leaving her alone with Kohl, but Bastila assured him that she would be fine. He'd taken apart the collar, proving to her that its power cells had been removed, and she'd put it on, using many of her Jedi calming exercises to ward off the trepidation as she did so.

The two women had idled around the apartment for a time, not saying anything, and Bastila took the opportunity to eat one of the rations left behind by Carth, deciding she'd need her strength, regardless of what happened. Not for the first time, she wished she still had her lightsaber.

Finally, Kohl glanced at her chrono and declared it time to go. Together, the two headed back to the roof, and climbed aboard Kohl's speeder. Soon enough they were in the sky, arcing across Taris toward the district which contained the Davik estate.

Bastila found herself quietly observing the other woman with fascination. Carth had shared some of what he'd learned of her... her amnesia, her strange alliance with the crime lord Davik. How she seemed to adore Mission and Zaalbar, and yet could be completely ruthless all the same.

And then there was the Force. It swirled around the woman, raw and untamed, and she seemed completely unaware of it. Neither dark nor light, it seemed simply... pure. She wondered if making the woman aware of her Force-sensitivity would change that, as if the Force remained untainted by Kohl's darker tendencies simply because of her lack of awareness.

She wondered what the Council would make of this new Revan.

Her internal speculation stopped as she realized that Kohl had begun her descent toward a large, sprawling mansion, placed on top of one of Taris' many upper platforms. The building was square, with a large portal set into the side, which she guessed was the hangar which held the _Ebon Hawk_. The top of the building held a garden – a strange indulgence for an Exchange boss – with a wide variety of plants from many worlds. Paths of stone meandered amongst trees and meticulously-trimmed grass. The top of the estate was oddly pastoral, and Bastila wondered what kind of man this Davik was.

"Don't be fooled," Kohl said, appearing to read her mind, though it was more likely she'd seen Bastila's eyes marvelling at the rooftop paradise. "Davik is one of the basest sentients you'll ever meet. There are Hutts in the Lower City with more class."

A landing port opened on the side of the building at some signal from the speeder. The older woman glided the vehicle in with consummate skill, setting down next to another speeder which occupied the small bay.

She turned to Bastila, eyes intent. "Remember: Don't speak. Don't move unless told. Don't _react_."

"I remember," the Jedi muttered. "I was in one of these things for two days."

"I wore one for a month, so don't expect sympathy," she replied, causing Bastila to blink with surprise. "We just need to stall Davik long enough for Mission to slice through the security system around the _Hawk_. Then we're out of here, and you can burn that thing for all I care."

Bastila nodded, and the two of them climbed out of the speeder. Kohl took hold of Bastila's arm and led her over to the door out of the speeder bay. Behind them, the launch portal closed, doing nothing to lessen Bastila's feeling of being trapped.

She nearly jumped when the door opened to reveal two men. One was a taller man, balding, who looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He reminded her somewhat of Master Vrook, although the comparison was ridiculous – Vrook would never be caught dead in such a garishly coloured armour. Beside him was a short man, who despite his lack of height was broad and muscular, with arms that seemed bigger than Bastila's thigh. He was armed with a pair of blasters, and had a heavy coat on over armour. Much of his head was hidden under a desert-style hat, and he even wore swoop goggles to hide his eyes, though she had no doubt he was evaluating both women with a hawkish gaze.

She quickly schooled her features into those expected from a person under the spell of a neural disruptor. She let her face go slack, and her eyes glaze over. It was like being half-asleep; reacting to nothing, doing everything commanded as though in a dream, with thoughts continually just beyond reach. She delved into her Jedi training, the many exercises she'd been taught as a youngling on how to immerse herself into the Force, to let the material world pass her without effect.

The older man – Davik, she assumed – spoke. "Ah, you're back. I expected you hours ago," he said, an edge to his words.

"I had to lay low for a few hours after the race," Kohl replied. "The Sith saw the broadcast too," she reminded him evenly.

"Everyone saw it," the shorter man remarked. He was looking at Bastila with suspicion. She fought to maintain her glazed expression, to not let any of her anxiety show, surrounded on all sides by enemies and a dubious ally. "You didn't mention that the officer in question was a Jedi."

"I didn't mention it because I didn't know," the assassin snapped.

"Yet you managed to catch her anyway. A Jedi. No mean feat."

"I caught her because I'm that good, Calo. You should watch sometime... you might learn something."

"Enough!" Davik barked. "He has a point. She's far more dangerous than we expected, Kohl. She broke free from the neural collar once."

"And she'll do it again, if we give her enough time. Which is why we shouldn't dawdle. Make your deal with the Sith."

Partially-immersed as she was in the Force, Bastila could feel Davik's displeasure at the implied command from someone he considered property. "The Sith are in disarray right now. Canderous hit their base while they were out looking for you, and Gadon Thek has been ambushing their search parties in the Lower City."

"Well!" Kohl exclaimed with false cheer. "We've _all_ been very busy, then." She raised an eyebrow at the short bounty hunter. "At least Calo is well-rested. He can protect us if she gets loose again."

The bounty hunter snarled, but didn't get a chance to act, as Davik suddenly slapped Kohl across the face, snapping her head back. Bastila was glad that they weren't looking at her, as she was unable to suppress a small jump at the painful sound.

"You are exhausting my patience, Kohl. Take the woman to the interrogation room and put her in the force cage. You guard her." He raised a finger into her face menacingly, a hand print glowing in painful red on her alabaster skin. "If she gets loose again, you pay the price," he warned. "_You._"

She looked back at Davik with naked hate. Kohl's chest was heaving from the force of her rage, so towering that Bastila could feel it shivering the Force. It made the young Jedi want to cower in the corner. It impressed Davik not at all. "Yes... _Master_."

Davik nodded, and then turned away to stride down the corridor. Nord lingered a moment, to send Kohl a satisfied smirk, then followed. The two women watched them go; Kohl's hands clenching and unclenching, as if imagining a throat in her grip.

When she judged it was safe, Bastila whispered to the other woman. "You must be calm. We're close-"

"Shut up," Kohl commanded, her voice husky. "I'll be calm when I've had my reckoning, which will be soon enough." She seized Bastila's arm with bruising force, and dragged her down the hallway, opposite to the direction Kang and Nord had taken.

Not wanting to draw the woman's anger onto herself, Bastila allowed herself to be pulled. She tried to distract herself by surreptitiously observing the surroundings. She was appalled by the colours that assaulted her inside the building. Quite unlike the garden above, everything was decorated in the same purple which made up Davik's armour. As the two walked through the corridors of the estate, the Jedi noted wall hangings from Alderaan, light fixtures from Coruscant, carpets from Ithor... many things which indicated a great deal of money, but not a great deal of taste.

Kohl turned a corner and stopped in front of a set of doors leading to a bedroom. She pressed the call button, and within a moment the doors slid open to reveal Carth, Canderous, and T3.

"About time," Canderous said without preamble. He saw the fading hand print on her cheek and his expression darkened. "Davik met you?"

"Him and his new favourite pet," she confirmed.

"He ditched us in here as soon as word came that you were coming in," Carth said. "Is he normally that jumpy?"

"No," she replied. "He knows that the Sith are going to come knocking soon enough, and he needs to have the princess here." She looked at Carth, while Bastila screwed up her face in distaste as the sarcastic title. "He showed you the _Hawk_?"

"Yup. She's a really, really nice ship," Carth said. Unlike his earlier edginess, the pilot seemed far more cheerful, almost bouncing on his toes.

"Never mind that. He showed it to you? He was impressed by you?"

"He's suspicious, but interested," Canderous said. "With Hudrow out of the picture, he needs a pilot, especially with your little prize promising to make the Sith go away. He's running a background check."

"I'm fairly well-known in the Republic," the pilot warned. "He's not going to like what he finds."

"It won't matter, we need to grab the ship soon, as soon as Mission slices the security consoles and disables the alarm systems." Kohl said.

Canderous raised an eyebrow. "In a hurry, are we?"

"We need to get out of here."

"Your intuition again?" None of them noticed the odd look which flashed across Bastila's face.

"Yes."

The Mandalorian nodded. "Fine. Grab the brat and get her to do the work, and we'll get out of here. I'm not in much of a mood to dawdle either."

Without warning, the entire room shivered slightly. "What in the galaxy-" Carth asked.

Another tremor shook them, much stronger than the first. Rising from his chair, Canderous tilted his head, like a dog listening to a whistle. "That's a turbolaser blast. Naval cannon."

More rumblings rattled the building, as if to agree. The shocks grew in strength and frequency, until the entire building trembled, and items were knocked from tables, and it nearly became a challenge to stand.

Bastila went white. "By the Force... the Sith... they're bombing the planet."

Kohl snarled. "Change of schedule. Get to the ship, _now_." She pulled one of her blades, flipping it over to hand to Bastila. "Kill anyone who gets in your way."

"Where in the galaxy are you going?" Canderous demanded.

"To get Mission! _Go!_" And she was gone, dashing out of the room.

Canderous grabbed his repeater, slinging it over his shoulder into ready position. "You heard the lady. Move!"

* * *

Kohl tore down the halls of Davik's estate, dodging light fixtures knocked loose by the bombardment, and some of Davik's servants who wandered the halls in near-panic. One of the guards, a Rodian, tried to stop her, to demand an explanation; without slowing down, she grabbed him by the face and drove his head into a wall as she passed, not even bothering to see whether he stayed down or not.

She passed through Davik's "throne room", the ridiculously opulent area where he hosted dinners and business meetings, and into the main wing where the crime boss' own bedroom was located. The assassin's assigned bedroom, which she never willingly used, was located right beside his, for the greater convenience when Davik felt the need to indulge in some of his baser urges.

It occurred to her as she ran that she wouldn't need to put up with that any longer... one way or another.

Her room was not locked, and the door barely slid open in time for her hurried approach. Within, Mission and Zaalbar waited, the young Twi'lek clutching the Wookiee in fright.

"You two! Come!" Kohl ordered.

"What's happening?" Mission wailed.

"The Sith are trying to kill us all. Come on, we've got to get to the _Hawk_." She grabbed Mission and physically hauled the girl to her feet. Zaalbar quickly bent to grab his equipment pack. "Zaalbar, _now_!"

Dragging the Twi'lek along, the Wookiee taking up the rear, the three headed out the way Kohl had come. The ground was shaking almost constantly, and sometimes the trembles would grow so violent that the three were tossed against the walls of the corridor. Mission wasn't able to keep up with the assassin's pace, and her fright was becoming unmanageable. Zaalbar grabbed her, picking her up to carry her against his chest. She clung to him like a Wookiee child, sobbing into his fur.

"Come on, _come on_!" Kohl hissed at no-one in particular, pushing the other two in front of her. They were close; one last corridor to the hangar. The door to the _Hawk_ lay in front of them, parting at their approach.

Suddenly a red bolt cut through the air, searing into Kohl's unarmoured back, knocking her to the ground with a cry. Zaalbar spun and roared with rage, but was forced to duck back behind the door frame to shield his precious burden as more bolts struck around him.

"And where are you three going?" came Calo Nord's voice. The bounty hunter approached slowly, weapons raised, a sneer on his face. "Davik told you to guard the woman! But I guess you're in the middle of a double-cross, hmm? I knew this was coming."

"Go! Get to the ship!" Kohl cried. Mission struggled, trying to get to her, but her strength was nothing compared to a Wookiee, and Zaalbar refused to let her go.

As they fled, Calo raised his weapons toward them, but was forced to block as Kohl pulled her knife and flung it at him. Taking the distraction, she didn't bother gaining her feet, instead rolling toward him, slamming a foot into his knee as she slid out flat. She lashed out a foot, catching him on the wrist and sending his blaster flying. He moved to grab it, but she scissored his legs, bringing him down, crawling up his body to try to get a powerful arm around his neck.

Calo may have been short, but he was still a bounty hunter with a deserved reputation... he was tough, strong, and he knew how to fight. He abandoned scrambling for his blaster to elbow her in the face. The blow shocked her enough for him to get an arm around her neck, and he grabbed his own wrist and began to squeeze, choking her. She punched him, but the force of the body blows was turned aside by the tough Mandalorian armour he wore beneath his coat.

She tried to pull his arms loose with one hand, while her other clawed its way over his neck toward his face. She jammed the blade of her hand against the pressure point below his nose, pushing his head back as he snarled with pain and defiance. He squeezed harder, and she shifted upward, sharp fingernails digging under his goggles for his eyes. He was forced to release her head to grab at her arm, which he tried to twist to get a position where he could break it.

She was ready, rolling her forearm around, reversing the arm-bar and driving his face and shoulder into the ground with a twist of her body. She held the arm and smashed his back with hammering elbows.

Calo managed to get his knees beneath him, ignoring the pain in his arm as her shots to his back began to have more effect. His swept a short leg underneath her, flipping her over, then kicked out, catching her in the face.

She rolled away, coming up to an unsteady standing position. He scrambled to his feet as well, and the two combatants glared at each other across the trembling hallway. Blood trickled down the side of Kohl's face, from where the skin on her temple had been split by Calo's boot. Scratches marred Calo's face, and he stood slightly hunched over. Both were acutely aware of the blaster lying on the floor just a couple of metres away from both of them.

It was Calo who moved first, darting toward the weapon. Again, Kohl intercepted him, catching his good arm, smashing an elbow into his face. She shoved him against the wall with all of her strength, punching him twice as hard as she could. He caught her arm on the third try, more through luck than skill, and spun about, slamming her against the wall. He pulled her forward again, kneeing her in the gut, and brought a heavy fist down upon her back, onto the blaster wound, finally tearing a cry of pain from the assassin.

He lift her to pound her against the corridor again, but she came up swinging, the flat of her hand finding Calo's nose, breaking it with a sickening crunch. She stabbed a toe into his gut, pushing him away, gaining the space she needed to spin. Her boot heel arced up to crash against his head, sending him spinning to the floor.

Blinking away dizziness, Kohl moved in for the kill. But as she stepped forward, Calo rolled over to reveal the retrieved blaster in his hand. A hurriedly-aimed shot caught her in the shoulder, sending her back to the ground with a cry. He climbed to his feet, never letting his weapon waver. Kohl watched him, her teeth clenched, clutching at the fresh hole in her shoulder.

Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, coating the lower part of his face in red. Calo snarled. "I've been waiting for this for a long time." He aimed the blaster between her eyes. She glared up at him, un-cowed, muscles tensing for her next move.

Just then, the entire complex shook, as the Sith intervened with a direct hit on the estate. The wall next to Calo blew inward, filling the air with dust, and the bounty hunter was forced to shield his face. He had enough time for an angry shout before the ceiling collapsed, a torrent of ferrocrete and metal wreckage cascading down to bury him.

When the avalanche of debris finished, Kohl opened her eyes. She blinked at the pile of wreckage, no less surprised than the Calo had been. Staggering to her feet, she looked for signs of the bounty hunter amongst the debris. Not finding any, she stooped to pick up the dropped blaster, quirking an eyebrow. "I guess patience is overrated."

* * *

Getting to the _Hawk_ had been rough going. As soon as the bombardment had begun, those of Davik's guard which hadn't fled for the Lower City had realized that the next logical place to go was to the hangar, where presumably – hopefully – their employer would take them when he fled. As a rule, Davik did not hire the most intelligent of thugs, but even the dimmest among them knew that when Canderous had entered the hangar, in the company of two strangers and a utility droid, something was not right.

This was pretty much confirmed a second later when the big Mandalorian opened up with his blaster carbine.

Between Canderous' repeater and Carth's blaster pistols, the four thugs cowering near the security console by the _Hawk_ fell in short order. Together they walked over to the ship, crouched safely behind the glowing blue force fields that made up Davik's security system. In front of the fields stood the console which awaited the authorization codes to bring down the fields and allow access to the ship.

Canderous growled. "That woman better not take long fetching the brat."

The door which they'd entered from slid open, but instead of admitting Kohl and her two charges, a squad of Rodian guards charged in, blasters blazing. Canderous swung about, dropping to one knee, while his repeater roared. One of the guards was caught in the shoulder, but the rest dived out of the way of the fusillade.

Carth squeezed the triggers on his pistols, putting himself between the guards' fire and Bastila. He slapped his shield band, covering himself in the protective blue glow of a personal shield. "We've got no cover here!"

"I'm glad you noticed!" Canderous replied.

The same was true for the attackers, and the two groups found themselves exchanging fire across the open plain of the hangar. Bastila stretched out a hand, and a pair of Rodians flew backwards to slam into the wall of the hangar. Only one stayed down, the other staggering to his feet, until Carth knocked him back down with a pair of blaster shots.

The door to their right slid open, and Canderous brought his carbine to bear, ready to mow down the reinforcements. But instead Zaalbar appeared, carrying Mission. He ducked as blaster shots scorched the metal around him, roaring in defiance, shielding the young Twi'lek. He lifted his bowcaster with his free hand, sending bright green plasma back at the enemy.

"Cover him!" Carth called, and began squeezing off shots as fast as his pistols would cycle; Canderous joined in, laying a heavy barrage of suppressive fire that made the guards dance, trying to dodge the blasts as best as they could. Even T3 helped as best as it could, adding its own little pistol to the rain of red bolts.

Zaalbar dashed across the hangar toward them as fast as his hulking frame would allow. Blaster bolts passed dangerously close, scorching his fur, but he made it to their side. He dropped Mission behind Canderous, and turned to add his own fire to the two humans'.

Canderous turned to cast a quick glare at the Twi'lek, who was scrambling to properly aim her own rifle. "Brat! Get over here and slice the security system!"

"But Kohl is fighting Calo Nord! We need to help her!"

"Helping her won't mean squat if we don't get the damned ship ready to go! Do it!"

Mission shivered, but did as commanded. Her fingers flew over the console, and she pulled a computer spike out of her pocket, jamming it into the console's data port. "I unlocked the other data port... T3, help me!"

The droid twittered, rolling over and jacking in. Together they tore at the system's virtual protections, the Twi'lek's intuition and cunning combining with the droid's processing power and inherent skill. But they were still taking fire, and Canderous' own shield was starting to flicker as he used himself as a shield for the young Twi'lek.

"Mission," Carth called between clenched teeth, his own shield starting to fail. "Faster is better!"

"I'm trying!" she snapped. "The encryptions on this thing are insane! Where in the galaxy did he get this stuff? He-"

Just then the hangar took a direct hit from the murderous enemies in orbit, and the entire building shook. Part of the roof effectively exploded, sending wreckage flying in all directions. Mission screamed as she was knocked to the ground, and Bastila barely deflected away a heavy piece of durasteel with the Force before it crushed them.

The firefight had paused as the two groups realized how close they had come to destruction.

"We don't have time for this," Canderous said as he laboured to his feet. "The Sith are razing the planet while we trade pot-shots with these idiots."

"Is there anyone else we can get the codes from?" Bastila asked.

Mission took hold of Carth's arm and shook it slightly. "Guys?"

"We'll have to grab Davik and beat the codes out of him. Let's hope he's not dead already-"

"Guys!" the Twi'lek shouted.

"What?" Canderous snarled.

"The Sith did the job for us," she pointed out. They looked, and saw that she was right; the blast which had demolished part of the hangar had also destroyed one of the field pylons, leaving a gaping hole in the _Hawk_'s security.

"Well, I'll be damned," Carth muttered.

Canderous stood gaping at the open field for a second, then shook himself. "Well, don't stand there _staring_, get aboard!"

The group obeyed, with Carth, Canderous, and Zaalbar providing covering fire. Blaster bolts splashed off the remaining force fields as they retreated around, getting behind the fields and dashing up the _Hawk_'s open boarding ramp. The guard's fire gained a desperate quality, as they realized that the Sith bombardment was intensifying, and the only thing that stood a chance of reaching safety was Davik's ship.

"Where's Kohl?" Canderous growled as the moved into the main room of the ship. Carth passed him on the way to the cockpit, Bastila on his heels, intent on starting the ship's power-up procedures.

"She should be here any second," Mission said. "That pit-slime Calo wouldn't have beaten her-"

Mission's statement was interrupted a second later, as an arm clad in purple armour reached out from the _Hawk_'s garage, snaking around her neck and pulling her backwards. "What do we have here? Thieves in the hangar!"

Zaalbar, still near the loading ramp, roared in sudden rage, his bowcaster rising toward Davik. The crime boss responded by pulling his own blaster pistol, aiming at the Wookiee. Carth and Canderous, who had entered the _Hawk_'s central room, reacted by lifting their own weapons. The pistol swung toward them as they did so.

Davik glared at the two men. "So, Canderous and the pilot. You know, I was planning on taking you along. I need a pilot, after all. But you decided to jump the gun. That's not the kind of loyalty I was hoping for from my newest employee, or my top man. I'm disappointed."

"That was kind of the idea," said Canderous flatly, drawing a snarl from Davik.

"So you all thought you were going to steal my ship, and leave me high and dry? Sorry! Not gonna happen!" Mission struggled in his grip, but he tightened his hold around her neck, and kept his blaster shifting between the three males. "Nobody makes a move. You, pilot!" Her gestured at Carth with the weapon. "Get this ship into the air. We'll sort this out _after_ we've gotten away from the Sith."

"You're not going anywhere." Davik jerked around to look at the speaker, and found Kohl standing at the bottom of the ramp. A blaster hung at her hip, but her hands were empty, and her face was bruised and half-covered in blood.

"And finally we're all here," he remarked snidely, though he clutched Mission to himself a bit tighter. "So you're the leader of this little rebellion? Fine. You tell them to get the ship into the air."

Another close hit demolished part of the hangar behind her, causing all of them to wobble on their feet. But her icy gaze did not move from Davik. "I said, you're not going anywhere."

Her defiance enraged the crime lord. "This ship belongs to _me_! And _so do you_! You live and die at my whim! Now do what I tell you!"

Kohl gave no reaction, continuing to stare him down. "Fine," he snarled. "You wanna play that way?" He swung his blaster up toward Mission's head. "Let's see if you're more obedient with a blas-"

He never got a chance to finish his sentence, nor carry out his threat. As soon as the blaster started to move toward Mission, Kohl drew her blaster and shot him with lightning speed. He yelled in pain as the bolt cored into his arm, jerking backward. Mission yanked herself loose, firing a weak elbow into his stomach, rolling forward and away into Zaalbar's arms. The Wookiee spun about, using himself as a big, furry shield.

He grasped at her escaping figure, but Kohl was walking up the ramp, firing each step of the way, unhurried, face cast in iron. The plasma bolts burned against his chest armour. When he tried to lift his blaster toward her, she shot him again in the shoulder, and his weapon slipped from nerveless fingers. The crime lord crumpled to his knees.

When she was close enough, the assassin kicked him roughly onto his back. She planted one foot on his chest, his purple armour smoking and pitted beneath her boot, and glared at him down the length of her blaster. She stared at him, face like a sphinx, and savoured his fear.

"You can't," he rasped. "You-"

She pulled the trigger, and did not stop until his face and head was a charred ruin. "I just did," she told the corpse.

She turned to the rest of the crew, who watched the dust and blood-coated, blaster-holed woman with a varying mix of shock, horror, and confusion. She looked at them as if they were all idiots. "What are you doing? Get this ship in the air!" she roared. That broke the trance; Carth and Bastila scurried to the cockpit, glad to be away from her.

"Canderous, take the keel cannon. The Sith aren't going to like us running out on their party." The big man nodded, jamming his repeater into the weapon rack on the wall, then striding off down the corridor to the turret hatch.

"What do we do?" Mission asked.

"You strap yourself in." Her tone brooked no argument. She gave Davik's body a kick. "Zaalbar, get this trash off my ship, then you do the same."

The Wookiee yowled in acknowledgement, but she was already moving, dashing over to the ladder to the _Ebon Hawk_'s dorsal turbolaser turret.

The ship rumbled as the main thrusters ignited, then rose into the air under Carth's deft hand. As they emerged from Davik's hangar, a turbolaser shot caught the vessel on the port side, the force of the plasma bolt nearly flipping the ship onto its edge. The small transport's shields dissipated the shot, but the crew was tossed around inside, and Zaalbar would have been thrown out the closing loading dock if not for a powerful, clawed hand wrapped around a support strut.

Carth's hands danced across the _Hawk_'s controls like a virtuoso performer. Grabbing the flight stick, he pushed the throttle to maximum, and the _Ebon Hawk_ shot into the sky. Behind them, the city of Taris smoked in deathly ruin, while fire continued to rain from the sky.

Within moments they broke atmosphere, managing to avoid being hit by another shot from the powerful naval cannon of the Sith fleet. Unfortunately Kohl's prediction was accurate, and as they shot away from the planet, a wing of Sith fighters swooped toward them in pursuit.

"Get us a hyperspace route out of here," Carth commanded the Jedi, and for once she merely nodded, pulling up the navigational interface. The _Hawk_ danced beneath his hands, surprisingly nimble for a transport ship, dodging the fire from the Sith fighters. There were too many to dodge them all, though, and Carth began to sweat as blasts splashed against the ship's dangerously weakened shields.

The _Hawk_'s own batteries were answering back, and Carth noted that there were certain tactical advantages to having a Mandalorian and a psychotic woman manning the guns. A snub-fighter exploded in the _Hawk_'s upper quarter, but the fleet was already sending out reinforcements, and Carth knew that the nearest capital ships were likely already receiving orders to use their turrets to swat the annoying escapee out of the sky.

_Are you out there, Saul? You're not getting me this time, either._ "Bastila, _now_ would be a good time."

"It's in!" she cried. Carth slid the throttle forward to its final setting; and for a few, terrifying seconds the _Hawk_ was out of his control, as the navigational computer took over, aligning the ship. Then the stars stretched, and the _Ebon Hawk_ shot away, faster than the pursuing bolts of energy from the oncoming fighters.


	8. Chapter 8: Renewal

Safely in hyperspace, away from Taris, the new crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ began to treat their wounds. Zaalbar had received some hits during the firefight which he'd ignored, and it took Bastila noting the smell of burnt fur before he admitted needing some medical attention. As the only person on board with any medical training at all, the Jedi found herself thrust into the role of medic. Fortunately, the _Hawk_ had a very well-stocked medical bay.

Of all of them, Kohl had suffered the most damage, thought she seemed to not notice. She seemed in a daze; Bastila worked to treat her wounds, nervously watching the woman as she cleaned dust from the blaster holes and applied kolto packs. The older woman showed no reaction, ignoring the pain, staring into space in stoic silence. When she was done she sat up and gave the Jedi a respectful nod, which seemed to be as close to gratitude as she was capable of expressing. Then she retreated to the starboard bunks and slept for an entire day.

Privately, Carth wondered if seeing an entire world destroyed was beyond even the assassin's taste for violence. Canderous passed it off; Bastila seemed tired and drained. For the pilot, the scene of destruction harked far too much of Telos, and his dreams that night were the worst he'd experienced in nearly three years. Mission took it the worst; though Taris had been a terrible place for non-humans, and the Lower City had been a pit of violence, it had still been her home.

Carth had approached the dorm set aside for the women, and witnessed Mission sobbing while Kohl held and rocked her; the tenderness toward the youngster was so unlike the woman's natural state that he'd stood there, shocked, for nearly a minute. They hadn't noticed him, and he'd retreated back down the corridor, strangely embarrassed by what he'd seen.

It was a five-day trip to Dantooine, and there wasn't much to do while in hyperspace aside from think.

On the second day, as he sat in the cockpit, familiarizing himself with the _Hawk_'s controls, there was a knock at the door. He turned to see Kohl there, looking at him. "Hey there, gorgeous."

Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie; she looked terrible. There were dark lines under her eyes, and her skin looked even paler than it normally did. Her hair, black as space, hung limply around her head. Lacking any other clothing on board, they all still wore the same clothes as before, simply relying on the sonic shower to clean them, but hers still smelled of scorched synthetic, with the blaster hole in the back.

It was dangerous to provoke her, perhaps even suicidal, but her quiet behaviour since their escape from Taris had made him feel like he needed to draw some kind of reaction from her. Besides – he was the pilot, she couldn't kill him. Not until they landed, anyway.

He was disappointed, his comment gaining little more than a slightly raised eyebrow. She stepped into the cockpit, her arms crossed. "I need to ask you something."

"Fire away." _Not literally, I hope._

She quirked an eyebrow, as if thinking the same thing. "I want you to take care of Mission. And Zaalbar."

"What?" Carth turned in his seat, not sure he'd heard correctly.

She pursed her lips. "You heard me. If anything happens to me, I want you to take care of them."

He shook his head, not understanding. "Why wouldn't you take care of them yourself? We're away from Taris... and you barely know me."

"Call it one of my feelings. As far knowing you... I know that you're honourable. I know that you wouldn't abandon a child."

He flinched at that, remembering Telos, and Dustil. "You don't know that."

"I _do_." She stepped closer, clearly losing patience. "I just want to be sure that if something were to happen to be, she wouldn't be left alone. She's almost old enough to take care of herself, although she claims she'd been old enough for years now. Zaalbar looks out for her, but he's almost as bewildered by the galaxy as she is... as I am. I've never been off Taris, that I can remember."

"But-"

"I've killed a lot of people, Onasi, just in the past year that I can remember. And the galaxy has a way of settling debts. I want to be sure that Mission isn't left alone when my tab comes up. Is that simple enough?"

Carth blinked, surprised to hear something so Jedi-like from her. He answered honestly. "I would have looked after her, even if you hadn't asked."

She nodded. "Good."

"But it doesn't matter, 'cause nothing's going to happen."

Kohl shrugged, and then turned, leaving the cockpit. And Carth was left with that ominous conversation in his head.

Over the next two days, it became obvious that he wasn't the only one to notice her deteriorating condition. It was the unspoken subject, the bantha in the room; the adults would cast worried looks at each other, while Mission watched Kohl move with blatant concern. Yet none of them said anything to her.

She seemed tired, moving around the ship as if she'd aged fifty years. There was a thin film of sweat on her, despite the cool air of the ship, causing her hair to stick to her forehead. The rings under her eyes darkened, until she looked beaten, her eyes and pale skin making her look like a wraith.

Carth wondered if it was withdrawal; whatever substance she was addicted to, she certainly didn't have access to it during the flight. Hopefully she'd emerge from the experience drug-free, a better woman. And even as he said it to himself, it rang hollow.

They were a day and a half out from Dantooine, and Carth was fiddling with the _Hawk_'s impressive navigational system, with Mission's voice rang through the ship. "_Kohl!_"

Carth spun, dashing through the ship toward the women's dorm, nearly colliding with Bastila as she emerged from the storage room. When they entered the room, they found Mission hovering helplessly over a fallen Kohl, who lay on the floor, thrashing.

"Mission, what happened?" Bastila asked as she moved to kneel by the convulsing woman, laying a hand on Kohl's shoulder.

"I don't know! We were going to play some Pazaak, and she was walking, and she just _fell down_..."

"Carth, help me..." the Jedi asked.

He obeyed, reaching under the woman, pulling her into his arms. He nearly dropped her as she shuddered in his grasp, but then she suddenly quieted, going still in his grip. She lay boneless, panting.

Lifting her, he shouldered his way past Canderous and Zaalbar, who looked on from the dorm entrance.

"What the hell happened?" demanded the Mandalorian.

"We don't know. Get out of the way, Canderous," replied the Jedi impatiently. He scowled but obeyed, following behind as Carth and Bastila carried the insensate woman to the medical bay.

He laid her out on the med-table, and Bastila dashed about, attaching sensors to the woman's wrist. Almost immediately, Kohl began shuddering again.

"What? She shouldn't be seizing again so quickly. What-"

"What's wrong?" Carth demanded.

"I don't know!" Bastila looked on, helpless. She turned and scrolled through the readouts accumulating on the medical display. "Something's interfering with her neuro-transmitters. Her synapses are going wild. What could..."

"Can you do anything about it?" Canderous demanded harshly. He'd entered the room, putting his hands on Kohl's legs, helping Carth keep her from rolling off the bio-bed in the midst of her seizures.

The current seizure stop; Kohl went quiet, with the same agonized panting as before. Bastila looked on helplessly. "I don't know... I don't know the cause!" She paused, worrying her lip as she thought. "I can try setting up a kolto infusion. If there's damage, it should help, but-"

"Don't bother," came Kohl's voice.

"Don't bother?" Carth demanded. "Kohl, what's wrong with you? This is way beyond withdrawal."

She didn't answer right away as she shuddered through another seizure, clenching her teeth in agony, the whip-like cords of her muscles standing out along her arms and neck.

"Kohl!" Bastila shook the other woman.

"J... J-_Joxivar's Leash_," Kohl panted, each word costing her.

Bastila went white, and Canderous snarled. Carth looked between them, confused. "What? What's that?"

"It's a poison, developed by the Hutts to keep control of particularly troublesome slaves," Canderous explained. "The slave needs regular doses of a counter-agent, or she dies... painfully. The antidote is extremely expensive, so it isn't used much. Apparently Davik found it worthwhile."

"I'm a high-maintenance woman," Kohl managed to laugh between breaths.

Carth stared at the assassin, shocked. "That's what you were taking that night."

"Of course, you idiot," she snarled. "How else do you think a man like Davik managed to keep a handle on someone like me? Flowers? I... _Gah!_" Another seizure tore through her like a blaster shot, and she arched up from the bio-bed. Carth tried to hold her down, but she was so Force-damned _strong_, it took him and the huge Mandalorian together to keep her from rolling off the bed.

"There's got to be something we can do!" Carth demanded, glaring at Bastila.

The Jedi wilted under his stare, almost seeming to be on the verge of tears. "I don't know! The Masters on Dantooine... they could probably heal her, purify the poison-"

"She'll be dead by then," Canderous growled.

Bastila looked at both of them, her mouth opening and closing, helpless.

"Carth-" He looked down, and saw Kohl looking up at him. Her voice was barely her own, weak, without any of the dangerous authority that normally filled it, even when she spoke softly.

He leaned down so that she wouldn't need to speak louder. "Yeah, I'm here, Kohl. What can I do? Tell me..."

She lifted her hand, brushing along his jacket, and for a moment he thought she was going to caress his cheek. Instead, it fisted into his collar, and the pilot found himself nearly dragged down onto the bed with her, staring into her grey eyes from centimetres away. Her face was twisted with defiant fury, and when she spoke, blood flecked the side of her mouth. "Remember your promise! Take care of her..." Her eyes rolled back, and she flopped back against the bed as another fit took her.

"_Do something!_" Carth snarled at Bastila. The Jedi looked nearly ready to panic, and Carth was reminded again just how incredibly, stupidly _young_ she was... old enough to decide the fate of the galaxy, too young to decide the fate of one sinful woman.

He was losing hope, beginning to think that perhaps the most they could offer her was an overdose of painkillers – a quick, peaceful death, rather than hours of agony before the end. He looked up, prepared to argue the point with Canderous, who would certainly not be pleased. Instead, he saw an idea dawn on Bastila, who set her jaw and squared her shoulders.

"Stasis. I'll put her into stasis."

"The _Hawk_ doesn't have the equipment-" Canderous began.

"Not with technology, with the _Force_!" Bastila snapped.

Carth nodded. "That's a good idea. Do it."

Bastila glared at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to do something stupid, like start arguing about who was giving orders again. "I've never done it for more than a few minutes at a time before! How far are we from Dantooine?"

"A day and a half." Kohl surged underneath his arms, and he put his weight down onto her legs, while Canderous held down her arms and torso. She managed a gurgling screech, and from behind him he could hear Mission sobbing in the hallway, Zaalbar hooting and growling as he attempted to comfort her. "What can we do to help?"

"You can shut up, and leave us alone once I get the field around her. I'm going to need every bit of my concentration to do this, and I'm not sure it'll be enough."

Carth nodded. Bastila reached out to take one of Kohl's hands, enfolding it in both of her own. She closed her eyes and began to focus. Carth thought he saw the air around her shimmer, though he knew it had to be his imagination.

"Damn it... Don't fight me, Kohl..." she muttered. After another few seconds, her eyes popped open, and she glared down at the other woman with frustrated impatience and desperation. "You stupid, selfish bantha! Must everything be a battle for you? For once in your life, let me help!" Kohl gave no sign of hearing the rebuke, lost as she was in a sea of pain. But Bastila closed her eyes again, and the frown on her face softened somewhat. Beneath his arms, Kohl's legs seemed to slow in their trembling; he watched with a mixture of hope and trepidation as the rise and fall of her chest slowed and then stopped.

He hesitated. Then, carefully, he lifted himself off the bed, stepping away. Across from him, Canderous did likewise.

"Bastila?"

"Get out. Get us to Dantooine."

They obeyed.

* * *

The last day of their trip was tense. Bastila couldn't sleep, couldn't eat... she barely had the concentration to spare to sip water brought to her by Mission. She'd asked that the others avoid the medical bay, as their rampant emotions disturbed her concentration. So they were left, spread around the ship, wondering what would happen.

Mission hid in the woman's dorm, worrying, occasionally emerging to check up on Zaalbar, who wandered around the ship with T3, fixing what he could of the damage taken when they'd escaped the Sith assault. Canderous idled in the garage, using the workbench there to clean and tweak his carbine, sometimes tinkering with the swoop bike kept there.

And Carth was left in the cockpit, trying to make the damned ship go faster. The _Ebon Hawk_ was amazingly fast, perhaps one of the fastest ships he'd ever piloted. But there was very little he could tweak to eke more speed from her, so he mostly spent his time watching the hyperspace counter slowly count down. He slept in the pilot's seat, an old habit from his fighter-pilot days, when he couldn't risk stepping away from the controls.

When the hyperspace engines disengaged, and the bright green orb of Dantooine warped into sudden view outside the main windows, he was already bringing the engines to full thrust. He tilted the ship into a dangerously sharp descent through the atmosphere, the shields glowing a bright blue as they held back the flames of the meteorite-like drop.

Predictably, the Dantooine monitoring stations noticed their assault-like entrance, and the ship's radio lit up. _"Unidentified ship... unidentified ship... this is Dantooine Air and Space Control... please respond!"_

"Control, this is the transport ship _Ebon Hawk_, responding." Surprisingly easy, Carth thought, how old habits came back under times of stress.

"_Roger, Ebon Hawk... please adjust your entry vector, you're coming in way too fast."_

"Negative, Control. We have a medical emergency on-board. We are bound for the Jedi Enclave, authorized by the Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan."

There was a long pause, as Carth was sure comments and questions were being tossed around at Control. Finally, the voice came back, "Roger, _Ebon Hawk_. You are cleared to land. The Jedi will have medical staff waiting."

He nodded, satisfied, though he would have landed even if he wasn't cleared. He paused to relay Bastila's one other request. "Control, Padawan Shan also requests that Master Zhar be available to appraise the situation. She was very specific."

There was another, longer pause. Ahead of him, he the clouds parted, and he could see the Enclave as he dove. He pulled back on the stick, bringing the ship to more level flight, tilting the vessel toward the waiting landing pad. "Roger, _Ebon Hawk_. We'll make sure he's there."

He brought the _Hawk_ in, throttling back, engaging the repulsors. The transport hummed under his hands, slowly lowering onto the landing pad, yet seemed ready to jump to maximum speed at any moment. The person who'd helped get him off Taris – _Hell, just call her your teammate... _– was dying in the back of the ship. Was it wrong that he enjoyed flying the _Hawk_ so much?

The vessel had barely touched down before he'd flicked the switches, shutting down the engines and opening the loading ramp. He jumped out of his seat, dashing toward the back.

The Jedi hadn't been idle. By the time he reached the main area, there was already a train of sentients aboard. A Twi'lek with dark pink skin stood near the ramp, with a cadre of robe-wearing sentients behind him. He looked up as Carth entered, diverting his attention from the threatening-looking Mandalorian who stood by the centre console, his arms crossed.

"Commander Onasi, I believe?" he asked in Basic. Carth nodded. "I am Master Zhar. Where is the injured being?"

"In here, Master," came Bastila's exhausted voice from the medbay. Zhar turned, following her voice, and Carth followed. In the hallway, Zaalbar and Mission waited, carefully staying out of the way of the Jedi medical staff, and the pilot sent her a reassuring nod.

"Padawan?" Zhar asked, quizzical. "You requested me specifically?"

She looked up at him, her eyes sunken, unable to stand. "Yes, Master." She managed to gesture to the still form of Kohl on the bed, her stasis near to wearing off.

Zhar stepped closer, and his eyes widened as he looked at the unconscious human. "Yes," he said. There was an odd note to his voice which puzzled Carth. "I can see why you required me."

* * *

_Two beings stood in front of a pair of stone doors. One was a tall, handsome human. He head was carefully shaved, and he was dressed in red robes, a lightsaber clipped to his belt. He watched his companion, a featureless being dressed in black robes, as he or she paced in front of the doors. Like the other, this being was also armed, though with a pair of lightsabers, rather than just the one._

"_The Dark Side is strong in this place... I can feel its power!" He clenched his fists, bathing in the sensation. Then, catching himself, he lowered his hands, seemingly ashamed of himself._

_He cast a worried glance at the doors. "Is this wise? The ancient Jedi sealed this archway. If we pass beyond this door, we can never go back. The Order will surely banish us."_

_The other being apparently thought so; wordlessly, a gloved hand waved over the door, and the locks parted of their own accord._

_The man watched as a tunnel stretched before them. "Are the secrets of the Star Forge so valuable, can it's power truly be worth the risk?" Yet he followed his companion, walking into the darkness._

_In front of them, like a sinister black flower, a trio of metal struts spread out on the floor. A globe set in the middle rose into the air, and began to glow..._

The first indication that Kohl had that something was wrong was when she realized she was still breathing.

Every single one of her muscles hurt; it felt like she'd run from one end of Taris to the other while carrying Zaalbar on her back. Her throat was dry; she could feel an infuser on her arm, undoubtedly supplying moisture and nutrients to her system.

There was something laying on her stomach. With effort, she managed to peel open her eyes. Glancing down, she saw a Twi'lek head resting on her belly, a pair of blue lekku draped across her body and the bed. The slender appendages twitched as Mission dreamed. The girl sat in a chair beside the bed, but had obviously fallen asleep while waiting for her to wake.

_She loves you, like the mother she can't remember_, she thought. Then the other, colder voice that lived inside her spoke up. _Her dependence is a weakness. She can't become strong while relying on you._ She sighed, and lifted a hand to caress the top of the youngster's head.

"You're awake," came a voice. Looking up, she saw Bastila standing over her. The Jedi had changed into a fresh Jedi robe, and overall looked much tidier than she had during their time on Taris. Her eyes flickered down, automatically noting the new lightsaber clipped to the young woman's belt.

They were in what looked like a recovery room. Blandly decorated, it was really just an array of beds in a single room. The walls were made of stained wood, and the floors covered in a thin carpet, a pleasantly organic contrast to the metallic cots and the bio-monitors. A medical droid hovered in a low-power state in the corner.

They were not alone; as Kohl watched, a trio of older males stepped up behind Bastila – a tall Twi'lek with dark pink skin, a small green Whill, and an older human. The two aliens looked at her with a mixture of fascination and apprehension; the human glared down at her with blatant dislike. All were dressed in the robes of the Jedi.

"I'm surprised, too," Kohl finally replied. Her voice was raspy, and forming words was an effort. She looked at the array of eyes aimed at her. "Aren't I supposed to be dead?"

The statement produced an odd, uncomfortable silence amongst the gathered sentients, who glanced at each other. The Twi'lek stepped forward. "No, young one. You're quite safe here. The poisons have been purified from your body... you shan't die today."

She wasn't going to die. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Now that you are awake, we'd like to discuss something with you."

"Wuh... Kohl?" Mission's head twitched, and the girl groggily lifted herself off the woman. She blinked sleepy eyes at her, and smiled. "You're awake."

Kohl reach down to give the girl's hand a squeeze. "Yeah, I am."

Bastila stepped around the bed, laying a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Come, Mission. Kohl and the Masters need to talk, and you need to give the others the good news."

"Talk?" Mission frowned. "But she _just_ woke up?"

"What we need to discuss will affect her recovery, child," the Whill responded. "Go with Bastila... we won't needlessly exhaust your guardian, and this should not take very long."

Mission automatically scowled at being called child', but looked to Kohl, who nodded very slightly. Sighing, she allowed herself to be led from the room by Bastila.

And then Kohl was alone with the Jedi Masters. Looking up at them, she felt the stirrings of fear within her. She didn't like being afraid; it made her angry. Yet, somehow she knew that all the anger in the galaxy was not going to change what they were about to tell her.

The Whill was the first to speak. He looked at her intently, despite the fact that even standing, he was barely taller than her on the bed. "Tell us, Kohl... what do you know of Force bonds?"

Finis (of a sort...)


End file.
